Skip to main content

Full text of "The iron chest: a play; in three acts"

See other formats











W R i T T i N F " 




Fhft reprefented at the Theatre-Royal, in Drury-Lane, 
On Saturday, izth March, 1796. 


*' By Mr. KEMBLEr &c. 


" I bad as Hcve toe Toivn-Ct-ier had /poke my Lines.'* 









irJlAVlNG been, for fome time, a labourer in thje 
^ Drama, and finding it neceflary to continue my labours, 1 
o cannot help endeavouring to guard the paft from mif- 
reprefentatioii,^ left my fupinenefs may injure the future. 
Confcious that a prejudice has been created againft the 
Play which I now fubmit to the Reader, and confcious how- 
far I am innocent of raifing it, it were ftupid to fit down 
^ in filence, and thus tacitly acknowledge myfelf guilty of 
\ dulnefs ; — dumbly confefs I have been deficient in the 
\ knowledge of my trade, damn myfelf for a bungling work- 
'*4 man, and fix a difrepute upon every article which mny, 
hereafter, come from my hands. 

Thanks to you, Ladies and Gentlemen ! you have been 
kind cuftomers to me ; and I am proud to fay that you have 
ilampcd a fafhion upon my goods. Bafe, indeed, and un- 
grateful were the attempt, after your favours, (o long re- 
ceived and continued, to impofe upon you a clumfy 
commodity, and boait it to be ware of the bed qua- 
lity that I «ver put up to fale ! No — on the word of an ho- 
ned man, I have beftowed no fmall pains upon this Iron 
Qiejl^ which I offer you. Infpedt it j examine itj you fee 
the maker's name is uppn it. 1 do not fay it is perfeift ; 



I do not pretend to tell you it is of the higheft pollfh 3 
there is no occafion for that :— many of my brethren have 
prefented you with mere linings for chejis, and you have, 
been content :-but, I truft, you will find that my Ircn 
Cheji will hold together, that it is tolerably found, and fit 
for all the purpofes for which it was intended. 

Then how came it to fall to pieces, after four days 
wear ?— I will explain that :— but alas ! alas ! my heart 
doth yearn, when I think on the tafic which circumftance 
has thruft upon me. 

Now, by the Spirit of Peace, I Swear ! where I not 
ftill doomed to explore the rugged windings of the Drama, 
I would wrap myfelf in mute philofophy, and repofe calmly 
under the dark fhade of my grievance, rather than endure 
the pain, and trouble, of this explanation. I cannot, 
however, cry "Let the world flide :" I muft perfuc my 
journey ; and be adivc to clear away the obftacles that im- 
pede my progrefs. 

I am too callous, now, to be annoyed by thofe innu- 
merable gnats and infefts, who daily dart their impotent 
flings on the literary traveller ; and too knowing to dif- 
mount, andwafte my time in whipping grafshoppers :— 
but here is a fcowling, fuUen, black Bull, right athwart 
my roadj-a monfter of magnitude, of the breed, 
perplexing me in my wanderings through the entangled 
labyrinth of Drury ! he ftands fulkily before me, 
fides, feemingly, impenetrable to any lafh, and tougher 
than the Dun Cow of Warwick !-His front out- 
fronting the brazen bull of Perillus !-He has bellowed, 
Gentlemen! Yen, he hath bellowed a difmal found! A 
hollow, unvaried tone, heaved from his very midriff, and 
ftiikin- the lifttner with torpor !-Would I could pafs the 
^ animal 


a-nlmal quietly, for my own fake ! — and, for his, by Ju- 
piter I I repeat it, 1 would not willingly harm the Bull.— 
I delight not in baiting him. — I would jog as gently by him 
as by the afs that grazes on the common : but he has ob- 
ftinately blocked up my way — he has already tofled and 
gored me, feverely — I rauft make an eiFort, or he batters 
me down, and leaves me to bite the duft. 

The weapon I muft ufe is not of that brilliant, and keen 
quality, which, in a fkilfull hand, neatly cuts up the fub- 
je(3, to the delight, and admiration, of the by-ftanders : 
It is a homely cudgel of Narrative ; a blunt batoon of Mat- 
ter of fa6l ; afFording little difplay of art in the wielder ; 
and fo heavy in its nature, that it- can merely claim the 
merit of being appropriate to the opponent at whom it i« 

Pray, ftand clear I— for I fliall handle this club vilely : 
and if any one come in my way, he may chance to get a 
rap, which I did not intend to beftow upon him. Good 
venal and venomous gentlemen, who dabble in ink for pay 
or from pique, and who have dub'd yourfelves Criticks^ 
keep your diftance now I Run home to your garrets !— 
Fools I ye are but Ephemera at beft ; and will die foon 
enough, in the paltry courfe of your infignificant nature?, 
without thrufting your ears (if there be any left you) into 
the heat of this perilous adion.— Avaunt ! — well, well, 
ftay tf ye are bent upon it, and be pert and bufy ;— you» 
folly, to mc, is of no moment.* 

I haften now to my Narrative, 

* Ye who Impartially, and confclentioufly, fit in diurnal 
judgment upon modem dramatift?, apply not this to yourfelves, 
i\ aims at the malevolent, the mean, and the ignorant, 
who are the difgrace of your order. 

I agree 


I agreed to write the following Play, at the inftance of 
the chief Proprietor of Drury Lane Theatre ; who, un- 
conditionally, agreed to pay me a certain fum for my la- 
bour : — r.nd this certain fum, being much larger than any, 
Ibelieve, hitherto offered on fimilar occafions, created no 
fmall jealoufy among the Parnaffian Sans CuloiUs-j feveral 
of whom have, of late, been vapidly induftrious to level, 
to the muddy furface of their own Caftalian ditch, fo ^rif- 
tocraticO'Dramatick a bargainer. '1 he flay, as fall: as 
written, (piecemeal) was put into rchearfal : But let it 
here be noted, gentle reader ! that a rehearfal, in Drury 
l^ane, (I mean as far as relates to this Iron Cheft) is lucus 
a non h'.cendo. They yc'ep it a rehearfal, I conjedlure, 
bccaufe they do not rehearje. I call the loved (hade 
qf Qarrick to witnefs ; nay, I call the lefs loved pre- 
ience of 'he then adling Manager to avow, — that there 
never w::? one fair rehearfal cf the Play. — Never one 
"r-?hearlai, wherein one, or two, or more, of the Performers, 
ti^y cfienti?] to the piece, were notabfsnt: and all the re- 
feesrials which I attended, fo flovenlyj and irregular, 
■that the ragged matter of a theatrical Barn, might have 
ilufli'd for the want of difcipline In the pompous Diredlor 
of his Majefty's Sfirvantf, at the vaft and aftonifhing new- 
ere<5\ed Theatre P..oyal, in Drury Lane, 

It Is well known, to thofe converfant wirii the builnefs 
of the ftage, that no perftfi judgment can be formed of the 
lefigthofaPlay, apparent to the fpedlatoi, ncr of the gene- 
tA tffc^ intended to be produced, until ihe piivate repeti- 
tions, among theaftors, have reduced the bufinefs into 
fomcthing like Jucidus ordo :— then comes the time fol the 
Judicious author to take up his pruniiig-knif?, or handle 
his hatchet. Then be goes luftily to workj, my m?iters ! 



upon his curtailments, or additions j his tranfpofitions, his 
lopping?, his parings, trimmings, dockings, &c. &c. &c» 
As in the writing, fo in the rehearfal j 

** Ordinls hooc virtus erit et venus, ant ego fallor j" 
*' XJt jam nunc dicat^ jam nunc debentla diet" 
*' Pleraque d'lfferat^ etprafem in tempus omittai :^* 
*' Hoc amet^ hocfpernat-, promijfi carminis Au5ior^* 

But, woe is me ! while I was patiently waiting the ex- 
pe£led crifis, a circumftance occur'd which compel'd me 
to watch a crifis of a lefs agreeable nature. A fever at- 
taclc'd me, as I fat beneath the damp dome of Drury, and 
drove me, malgre moi^ to bed \ where I lay during a week, 
till three hours before the Play was exhibited. In addition 
to the unavoidable injury ariung from the author's abfence, 
Mr. Kemble, the ai£ling- manager, and principal perfor- 
mer in the piece, was, and had been fora-few days, previ- 
ous to my own ilhiefs, confined to his chamber, by indif- 
pofition. I lay little ftrefs, indeed, upon his temporary 
incapacity to perform his managerical duty; his mode of 
dil'charging it, hitherto, was produ6live of little benefit to 
me ; — Still it was Jome drawback — for were a mere Log 
thrown amidft a Thefpian community, and nominated 
it's dull and ponderous Ruler ftill the block, while in it's 
place, would carry fome fway with it : — but his non-atten- 
dance as an ador, fo much engaged in the Play, was par- 
ticularly detrimental. 

Nay, even the Compofer of the mufick — and here let me 
breathe a figh, to the memory of departed worth and genius, 
as I write the name of Storage — even he, could not pre- 
ficJe in his department. He was preparing an early flight 
to that abode of harmony, where choirs of Angels fwell 
the note of welcome to an honeft, and congenial fpirit. 



Here then was a direiSl ftop to the bufiners ? No (uch 
thing. The Troops proceeded without leaders : In the 
dark, Meffieurs f-r-^'' Sans cyeSj 5«;;j every thing.'* The 
Prompter, it is true, a kind of ncn-commiffioned officer, 
headed the Corps, and a curious march was made of it! 

But, lo ! two days, or three, (I forget which) previous 
to the public rep'-efentstion, up 'fofe King Kem33Le! like 
Somnus from his eboa bed, to diftribute his dozing direc* 
dons among his fubjeds. 

*' Td rdd gravitate jncentei"' 
** Vix oculos tollens j" 
*' Sionjnaque percutiem mitanti pectora jnento^" 

*' ExcuJJit^ tandem^ fibi Je j cubito^ue le^vatus^^' iufc. 

^ '. .c 

Hecin^e/faw, and pronounced the Piece to be ripe for 
exhibition. It was ordered to be perform'd immediately. 
News was brought to me, in my ficknefs, of the mighty Fiat. 
and, although I was told, ofHcially, that due care had been taken 
to render it worthy of public attention, I fubmitted with doubt 
and trembling to the decree- My doubts, too> of this boafted care 
were not a little increafed by a note, which I receiv'd from 
the Prompter, written by the Manager's order, three hours 
only, before the firlc reprefentation of the Play : — wherein, 
at this late period, my confent was, abruptly, requefted to a 
tranfpofition of two of the moft material fcenes in the fe- 
condaiSl: and the reafon given for this curious propofal 
was, that the prefentftage of Drury— where the Architect 
and Machinift, with the judgment and ingenuity of a Politi- 
tianand a Wit toaffiftthem, had combined to outdo all for- 
mer theatrical outdoings- - was fo bunglingly conftru£lcd, that 
there was not time for the carpenters to place the lumbering 
frame- work, on which an Abbey was painted, behind the 



t^prefentation of a Library, without leaving a chafm of ten 
minutes in tiie a£lion of the Playj and that in the middle of 
an adl.— -Such was the fabrication of that New Stao-c. 
whofe ^^ extent dnd poiV£rs^' have been fo vauntingly adver- 
tifed, under the claffick management of Mr. Kemble, in 
the edifying exlbltfon of Pantomimes, Proceflions, Page- 
ants, Triumphal Cars, Milk white Horfss, and Ele- 
phants ! 

As I did not chufe to alter the conilrutf^ion of my Play, 
without deliberation, merely to Ikreen the ill-conftru£lion 
of the Hcufe, I would notllften to the modeft, and luellti'iud 
demand, of turning the progrefs of my fable topfy turvy-. 

Very ill, and very weak, from the ^^^Qi^ of the fever, 
which had not, yet, left me, I made an efFort, and went 
to the Theatre, to wltnefs the performance. I found Mr. 
Kemble, in his dreffing room, a {hort time before the 
<rurtain was drawn up, taking Opium Pills: and, nobodv 
who is acquainted with that gentleman will doubt me when 
I afiert, that, they are a medicine which he has long been 
in the habit of fwallewing. He appear'd tp me very un- 
well -y and feomed, indeed, ip have imbibed, 


*' Poppy and Mandr agora ^ 
And all the drowjyfyrups of the i»orld,'' 

The Play began ; and all went fmoothly, till a trifling 
difapprobation was fhewn to the character perfonated by 
Mr. DoDD ;---the fcene in which he was engaged being 
much too long : A proof of the neglcdl of thofe whofe bu- 
finefs it was to have informed me (in my unavoidable ab- 



•fence from the Theatre) that it appeared in the lajl reheat* 
fah^ to want curtailment. I confidered this, however, to 
be of no greatmomcnt; for Mr. Kemble was toappearim- 
mediately in a fubfequent fcene, and much was expected from 
his execution of a part, written exprefsiy for his powers. 

And, here, let me defcribe the requifites for the charac- 
terwhich I have attempted to draw, that the world may judge 
whether I have taken a wrong meafure of the perfonage 
whom I propofed to fit : premifing that I have worked for 
him before, with fuccefs, and, therefore, it may be prefum- 
ed that I am fomewhat acquainted with the dimenfions of 
his qualifications. 1 required, then, a man 

" OfatallJIature, andoffahkhue^* 

" Muchlike the Jon of Kijh^ that lofty Jew'* 

A man of whom it might be faid, 

*' There' s fometh'ing In his foul'" 
" G' cr which his ynelancholyjits^ and broods," 

Look at the aj^or ; — and will any body do him the in- 
juftice to declare that he is deficient in thefe qualifications. 
It would puzzle any author, in any time or country, from 
jSLfchylus down, even, to the Tranilator of Lodorf:a-~~zv.a 
really, gentleman, I can go no lower---to find a figure 
and face better fuited to the purpofe. I have endeavour'd 
more-over, to pourtray Sir Edwcrd Mortimer as a man 
ftately in his deportment, referved in his temper, myiterious, 
cold, and impenetrable, in his manner : and the candid obfer- 
vers, 1 truft, will allow that Mr. Kemble is thoroughly 
adequate to luch a perfonation. 

To complete my requifitions, I demanded a performer 
who could enter intg the fpirit of a charader proceeding up- 


on romantlck, half-witted principles, abftra^led in his Gpi- 
nions, fophifticated in his reafonings, and who is thrown in- 
to fituations where his mind and conduct ftand, tiptoe, on 
the extremeft verge of probability. Here, furely, I have not 
miftaken my man ; for if I am able to form any opinion of 
him, as an A6tor, — and my opinion, I know, is far from 
fmgular,»--his chief excellence almolt approaches that ftyle 
which the learned denominate Caricature. Poilibility on 
the flretch, paflion over- leaping it's cuftomary bound, 
movements of the foul, fullen, or violent, very rarely feen 
in the common courfe of things, yet dill may be feen— in 
thefe is his element. As our language is faid to have funk 
under the vaft conception of Milton, fo does the modefty 
of Nature fuflcr a depreflion beneath the unwieldy imaginings 
of Mr. Kemble. He feldom deigns to accompany the 
Goddefs in her ordinary walks ; when fhe decently paces the 
regular path, with a fober flep, and a flraight perfon : but 
he kindly aflifts her when (he is, doubtlefs, in need of aflift- 
ance— when (he appears out of her way, crazy and crook- 

The arrogant fault of being more refined than Refinement, 
more proper than Propriety, more fenfible than Senfe, which, 
nine times in ten, will difgufl; the fpe£lator, becomes fre- 
quently, an advantage to him, in charaders of the above 

In fhort, Mr. Kemble isaparagon-reprefentative of the 
Lufus Nature : and were Mr. Kemble few'd up in afkin, 
to a£l a hog in a pantomime, he would a£l a hog with fix 
legs better than a hog with four. 

If any one afk why I chofe to fketch a Liifus Nature, 
when it might better become an author to be chafte in his 

b de- 


delineation, I can only reply that, I did fo to obtain the 
afTiilance of Mr. Kemble in his bcft manner; and that 
now, I do mofi: heartily repent me : for never, fure, did 
man place the main ftrength of his building upon fo rotten a 
prop ! 

Well, the great aiElor was difcover'd, as Sir Edward Mor" 
timer, in his library. Gloom and defolation fat upon his 
brow ; and he was habited, from the wig to the {hoe- firing, 
with the moftlludied exadlnefs. Had one of King Charles 
the Firft's portraits wallc'd from it's frame, upon the boards 
of the Theatre, it could not have afforded a truer reprefen-. 
tation of ancient and melancholy dignity. 

The picture could not have look'd belter-— but, in juftice 
to the pi(Slure, it mufl alfo be added, that, the pidure could 
fcarcely have aded worfe. 

The fpeflators, who gapsd with expeftation at his flrfl 
appearance, yawn'd with laffitude before his firfl exit. It 
feem'd, however, that illnefs had totally incapacitated him 
from performing the bufinefs he had undertaken. For his 
mere illnefs he was entitled to pity; for his condu£l under 
it, he, undoubtedly, deferved cenfure. 

How can Mr. Kemble, as a Manager, and an A6lor» 
juflify his thrufting hinifelf forv/ard in a new play, the ma- 
terial interefl of which refled upon his own powers, at a 
moment when he mufl be confcious that he had no powers 
at all r — Mr. Kemble owes a duty to the publick, to his 
employer, and to an author writing for his employer's houfe. 
How does he treat the claimants upon his fervice, in this 
inftance ? Exa£l!y, thus---he infults the underflanding of 
the firfl, and injures the interefts of the two lafl, by calling 
in a crowd to an entertainment which he knows he mufl 


I requefted him, at the end of the firft ait, to order an 
apology to be made for his indifpofition, left the unin- 
formed or malicious, might attribute the ponderofity of the 
performer to the heavinefs of the author. I was anxious 
to difavow aU right and title to thofe pigs of lead which did 
not belong to me, and of which Mr, Kemble was the juft 
proprietor. But, no — he peremptorily declared he wouF 
not fufFer an apology to be made! It (hould have been 
made (if at all)before the Play began.— Then why was it 
not made ? — He did not, then, imagine that illnefs would 
have difabled him. — So, then, a man quits his cham- 
ber, after an attack which has, evidently, weaken'd him 
extremely, and he has no bodily feel, no internal monitor, 
to whifper to him that he is feeble, and that he has net 
j-ecover'd fufficient flrength to make a violent exertion I This 
mode of reafoning, adopted by ivir. Kemble, is much in 
the fpiritof that clown's, who did not know whether he could 
play on a fiddle 'till he tried. Be it noted, alio, that Mr 
Kemble was fwallowing his opium pills, before the play 
began, becaufe he was ill: — but opium caufes ftrange obli- 
vious efFe6ls ; and thefe pills rauft have occafion'd (o fudden 
a lapfe in Mr. Kemble's memory, that he forget when he 
took them, why he took them, or that he had taken them ^ 
all. The dofe muft have been vefv powerfuL Still for th; 
reafons already ftated, I prefl'd for an apology j flili Mr* 
KemBTle continued obftinate in oppofin^ it. His indifpo- 
fition, he faid, was evident ^ he had cough'd very much 
upon the ftage, and an apology would make him " look like 

Good-nature in excefs becomes weaknefs ; but I never 
yet found, in the confined courfe of my reading, that good- 
nature and folly wcruld bear the fam&definition ; Mr. Ka.\i- 



BLE, it fliould feem (and he produced, at leafl, managcrlcal 
authority for it) confider'd the terms to be fynonimous. 
Freely, however, forgiving him for hisunkindnefs, in refu- 
fing to gratify a poor devil of an author, — who, very an- 
xious for his reputation, was very moderate in his requeft — 
I do, in all chriftian charity, mofl fincerely wifli that Mr* 
Kemble may never find greater caufe to look like a fool than 
an apology for his indifpofition. 

At length, by dint of perfeverance, I gain'd my point. 
A proprietor of the Theatre was call'd in upon the occafion, 
whofe mediation iu my favour carried more weight with 
the Acting Manager than a haplefs Dramatift's entreaty ; 
and the apology was, in due form, delivered to the au-» 

One third of the Play, only, was yet perform'd ; and I 
was, now, to make up my mind, like an unfortunate tra- 
veller, to perfue my painful journey, through two ftages 
more, upon a broken-down Pofter, on whofc back lay all 
the baggage for my expedition. Miferably, and moft hea- 
vily in hand, did the Poller proceed!-- -He groan'd, he 
lag'd, he cough'd, he winced, he wheezed !---Never was 
ieen fo forry a ]'xi^\ The audience grew completely 
ibur'd, and, once completely four'd, every thing, naturally, 
went wrong. They rccur'd to their difapprobation of poor 

DoDD— and obfervc what this produced, I mufl relate 


Mr. Kemble had jufl plodded through a fccne, reo-ard- 
Icfs of thofe loud and manifell tokens that tiie Criticks de- 
lighted not in the *' drcwfy hums'' with which he " ran^ 
** nighfs yawniiig peal^" when Dodd ?ppear'd to him on 


PREFACE. xlii 

the Stage; at whofe entrance the clamour was renewed. 
Then, and not till then, did the A6l:ing Manager, who had 
been deaf as any poft to the fupplications of the author for 
an apology — then did, he appear fuddenly feized with a fit 
of good nature. He voluntarily came forward *'/(3 look 
*' like a fool" and beg the indulgence of the town. He 
fear'd he was the unhappy caufe of their difapprobation; he 
entreated their patience J and hoped hefhould, fhortly, gain 
ftrength, to enable them to judge, on a future night, what 
he handfomely term'd the merits of the Play. Here was 
friendfhip! Here was adroitnefs! While the Publick were 
teftifying their difguft at the Piece, through the medium 
of poor DoDD, Mr. Kemble, with unexampled genero- 
fity, took the whole blame upon his own flioulders, and he- 
roically faved the author, by fo timely an interpofition. I 
was charm'd with this mafter-ftroke, and, at the impulfc 
of the moment, I thank'd him. But, alas j how narrow 
is the foul of man! how diftruftful in it's movements, how 
fcanty in its acknowledgments, how perplexing to itfelf in 
it's combinations I Had I, afterwards, look'd on the thing 
fimply, and nakedly, by itfelf, why the thing is a good-na- 
t-ured thing: but I muft be putting other circumftances by- 
the fide of it, with a plague to me! I muft be puzzling 
myfelf tofeeif allfitsj if all is of a piece. And what is the 
refult ?— Miferable that I am ! I have loft the pleafurc 
of evincing a gratitude, which I thought I owed, becaufe 
I no longer feelmyfelfa debtor. Had I abandoned my 
mind to that placid negligence, that luxurious confidence, 
which the inconfiderate enjoy, it had never occur'd to 
me that Mr. Kemble, forefeeing, perhaps, that an ao-- 
grieved author might not be totally filent — ftep'd forward 
with this fpeech to the publick, as a kind of/alvoy ((hould 
a ftatement be made) for his rigidity in the firft inftance. 



It had never occur'd to me that Mr. Kemble was fuffi- 
ciently hifs'd, yawn'd at, Jaugh'd at, and cough'd down, 
to have made his apology before Mr. Dodd appeared; 
It had never occur'd to me that his making his apology 
at a previous moment would have anfwer'd the fame pur- 
pofe to me^ and not to him: It had never occur'd, in 
fhort, that there is fuch a thing as oftentatious humility, 
and a politick act of kindnefs j and that I fhould have 
waited the fequei of a man's condu(f!t, before I thank'd him 
for one inftance of feeming good-v.'ill, clofe upon the heels 
of ftubborn ill-nature, and in the midft of exifting, 
and palpable injury. The fequei will fliew that I was 
pre-mature in my acknowledgment — but before I come 
to the fequei, a word or two (I will be brief) to 
clofe my account of this, the firft night's, eventful hiftory. 
The Piece was concluded, and given cut^ for a fccond 
performance with much oppofition. 

Friends, who never heard the Play read, fhook their 
heads j Friends, who had heard it read, fcarcely knew 
it again: Several, I doubt not, of the impartial, who 
chofe to be a6tive, actively condemn'd; and enemies, of 
<^urfe, rejoiced in an opportunity cf joining them. 

No opportunity could be fairer. The Play was, at 
Icaft, a full hour too long; and had Job himfelf fat to hear 
it he muft have loft his patience. But, if, gentle reader, 
thou poflefTcft Job's quality, and haft followed me thus 
far, in my Narrative, it will appear to thee (for I doubt 
not thy retention and combination) that I was unable to 
curtail it efFedually, at the proper time — the laft rehear- 
fals. I was, then, laid flat, my dear friend, as you remem- 
ber I have told you, by a fever. The adting manager did 



attend the laft rehearfils, and fuiFered the piece to be pro- 
duced, uncut., to " drag it's flow length along" fur- 
charged with all his own incapacity, and all his opium. 

How, then, do I fland indebte(!^ according to the ar- * 


tides of this night's ftatement? I owe to Mr. Kem- 

Forhls illnefs. Compassion, 

For his cojulucl under it. Censure, 

For his rcfufing to make an apology, A Smile ! 

For his making an apology^ A Sneer, 

For his mifmanage?nent, A Groan, 

For his a^ifjgy A Hiss, 

This accountis fomewhat like the Tavern bill, pick'd 
ffom FalftafPs pocket, when he is fnorting behind the 
arras. There is but one halfpennyworth of compaflion 
to this intolerable deal of blame. 

Now for the fequel. — I have (hewn, I think, that Mr. 
Kemble, In the firft inftance, undertook a duty which 
he f(?«/^ not perform: I have now to affirm, with all the 
difficulty of proving a negative full in my face, that he 
afterwards, made a mockery of difcharging a duty which 
he zycw/*;/ not perform. 

After a week's interval, to give him time to recruit his 
ftrength; and the Author time to curtail, and alter, the 
Play; (for the impreffion which the Mif-Manager and 
A>5lor, had contrived to ftamp rendered alteration necef- 
fary) it was a fecond time reprefentcd, 



I mud, here, let the uninformed reader into a fecrct;— = 
but I muft go to Newmarket to make him underftand me.— 
No, Epiom will do as wellj and that is nearer home.— 
It often happens, at a Race, that a known Horfe, from 
whom good fpprt is expedted, difappoints the crowd by 
•walking over the courfe. — He docs not mifs an inch of the 
ground; but affords not one jot of diverfion, unlefs fome 
pleafure is received in contemplating his figure. Now, 
an adtor can do the very fame thing. He can walk over 
his part: He can mifs no more of his words than the 
Horfe does of his way: he can be as dull, and as tedious, 
and as good-looking as the Horfe in his progrefs : — The 
orily difference between the two animals is, — that the 
Horfe brings in him who bets upon him a gainer; but the 
lucklefs wight who has a large ftake depending upon the 
a»Elor is, decidedly, certaiil to lofe. There is a trick, too, 
that the Jockies practice, which is cali'd, I think, playing 
booty. This confifls in appearing to u(e their utmofl en- 
deavour to reach the winning-poft firfi, when they are al- 
ready determined to come in the laft. The confequence 
is, that all, except the knowing ones, attribute no fault 
to the Jockey, but damn the Horfe for a fluggard. — An 
adtor can play booty if he chufes: — he can pretend to whip 
and fpur, and do his befl, when the Connoiffeur knows, 
all the while, he is fhirking : — but Sluggard is the unmerited 
appellation given by the majority to the innocent Author. 

Mr. Kemble chiefly chofe to be Horfe, and walk'd over 
the ground. Every now and then (but fcarcely enough to 
fave appearances) he gave a flight touch of the Jockey, and 
, flayed booty. 


PREFACE. xvii the language which is put into tlie mouth of 
Sir Edward Mortimer be above mediocrity, or below con- 
tempt, is not to the prefent purpofe : but the words he is 
made to utter certainly convey a meaning ; and the circum- 
ftancee of the fcenes afFord an opportunity to the Performer 
of playing off his mimiclc emotions, his tranfitions of paf- 
fion, his ftarts, and all the trickeries of his trade. Tl e 
devil a trick did Mr. Kemble play but a very fcurvy one! 
His emotions and pafiions werefo r^re, and fo feeble, that 
they fearon'd his general infipidity, like a fingle grain of 
wretched pepper thrown into the largeft dofe of water-gruel 
that ever was adminifter'd to an invalid. For the mod 
part, he toii'd on, line after linej in a dull current of sndi- 
verfified found, which ftole upon the ear far more drowfily 
than the diftant murmurings of Lethe j with no attempt to 
break the lulling ftream, or check its flejep-inviting cour£e. 

Frogs in a marfh, flies in a bottle, wicjd in a crevice, a 
preacher in a field, the drone of a bagpipe, all, all yielded 
lo the inimitable, and foporific monotony of Mr. Kem- 
ble ! 

The very beft Dramatick writing, where paflion is ex- 
preff'd, if deliver'd languidly by the Aclor, will fiiil in it's 
intended efFe«Sl : and I will be bold enough to fay that were 
the Curfe in King Lear new to an audience, and they heard 
it utter'd, for the firfl time, in a croak, fainter than a crow's 
in a confumption, it vi^ould pafs unooticed, pr appear va- 
pid to the million. 

If I raife a critical clatter about my cars, by this afE-r- 
tion, which fome may twifl into a profanation of Shak- 


xviii PREFACE. 

/peare, 1 leave it to Horace, who can fight battles bettv 
than I, to defend me, 

*' Si dicenth erunt fortunis ahfona diSia^ " 

*< Romani tollent peditei cqidiefque cachinnum. " 

That Mr. Kemble did not mifconceive the Part is cer- 
tain ; for he told me, feme time before the Play was adled, 
that he fear'd the exertions requifite, in Sir Edward Morti- 
mer^ would ftrain his lungs more than O^avian^ in the 


That he can ftrain his lungs, to good purpofe, in OSia- 
viatif is well known ; and, after this, his own intimation, 
how will he efcape the charge of wilfull and direfl delin- 
quency, when, with fuch a conception of the Part, and 
with health recover'd, he came forward in the true fpiritof 
Bottom^ and '•^ aggravated his 'Once fo that he roared you as 
gently as a^iy fucking dove ? "'* 

He infulted the Town, and injured his Employer, and 
the Author, fufficiently in the firft inftance ; in the fecond 
he added to the infult and injury an hundred- fold : and as 
often as he mangled the Charadler (three or four times, I 
am uncertain which, after the firft night's performance) he 
heap'd aggravation upon aggravation, 

' The mofl mifcrablc mummer, that ever difgraced the 
walls of a Theatre, could not have been a ffronger draw- 
back than Mr. Keivble. He w»ts not only dull in himfelf 
but the caufe of duinefs in others. Like the baleful Upa$ of 

f Mr. Kemble informed me, previous to the fecond re- 
prefcniation of the Play, that he felt himfelf capable of excr- 



PREFACE. 3fix 

yava, his pefliferous iniluence infe6led all around bim.''-« 
When two Actors come forward, to keep up the Shuttle- 
cock of fcenick-fidion, if one plays flovenly, the other 
cannot maintain his game. Poor Bannister Jun. would 
he fpeak out (but I have never prefT'd him, and never ftiall 
prefs him to fay a word upon the fubje(5l) could bear ample 
teftimony to the truth of this remark. He fufFer'd like a 
man under the cruelty of Mexentius. All alive himfelf, be 
was tied to a corpfe, which he was fated todrag about with 
him, fcene after fcerie, which weigh'd him down, and de- 
prefl'd his vigour. PvIifsFARREN, too, who might animate 
any thing but a foul of lead, and a face of iron, experienced 
the fame fate. 

1 could proceed, and argue, and reafon, and difcufs, and 
tire the reader, as I hive tired myfelf (it is now, my good 
friend, one o'clock in the morning) to prove, further, that 
Mr. Kemble was unfound in my caufe, and that he ruin'd 
my Play : — But I will dtfift here. I think I have profed 
enough to manifeft that my arguments are not unfounded. 

They who are experienced in Dramai'icks will, I truft, 
fee that I have made a fair extenuation of myfelf-— they who 
are impartial will, I hope, be convinced that I have fet 
down nought in malice. 

The only queftion that may arife to (liake, materially, 

the credit of all I have faid, is " How is it probable 

that Mr. Kemble fhould injure you thus, without provo- 
cation ? Is it in nature ? Is it in man f" I can merely anfwer 
that I am unconfcious of having given him caufe for provo- 
cation ; — that if I have given him caufe, he has taken a bad 
mode of revenge ; that Mr. KeMble's nature has frequent- 

ca ly 

*x P R E F A C K. 

ly puzzled fflc rti my obfefvation upon it ; and that I think 
him a very extraordinary Man. 

But let him take this with him, {hould thife crudely writ- 
ten preface ever fall in his way. I have committed it to 
piper ctirrente calamo, I mean no allufion, no epithet, to 
apply to him as a private individual. Asa private indivi- 
dual I give him not that notice which it might, here, be 
impertinent to beftoVi? : — but I have an undoubted right to 
difcufs his merit?, or demerits, in his publick capacities of 
Manager and A6lor : and my caufe of complaint gives me 
a good reafon as well as a right. His want of condu6t, his 
negled, hisinjuftice, his oppreffion, his finefie, his perfon, 
his face, are in this point of view all open to my animad- 

^' He is my gsods^ my chattels ; '^ 

*' My Hor/cy my Oa-, ;//y Jfs, my any thing. " 

And I would animadvert ftill, further, did I not think I 
had already faid fufficient to gain the objeft of guarding my 
own reputation. That objedl has folely fway'd me in dwel 
ling fo long upon a ** plain tale " encuniberM with fo 
fatiguing a Hero as John Kemrle, 





Am indebted for the .{^round-work of this Play to a Novel 
entitled " Toiiigs as they are^ or the Adventures of Caleb 
Willia7ns; zvrltten by JVilliam Godivin." Much of Mr. 
Godwin's ftory I have omitted ; much, which I have adopted, 
I have cOmprefT'd ; much 1 have added ; and much I have taken 
the liberty to alter. 

All this I did that I might fit it, in the bell of my judgment, 
to the ftage. 

I have cautioufly avoided all tendency to that which, vul- 
garly, (and wrongly, in many inftances,) is termed Politicks; 
with which, many have told me, Caleb TFilliams t^ems. 

The ftage ' % now, no bufinefs with Politicks : and, 
Should a Dran.atick Author endeavour to dabble in them, it 
Is the Lord Chamberlain's ofBce to check his attempts, before 
they meet the eye of thePublick. I perufcd Mr. Godwin's 
book, as a tale replete with intereiling incident, ingenious ia 
it's arrangement, mafterly in it's delineation of charatter, 
and forcible in its language. I confidered it as right of Com- 
mon; and, by a title which cuftom has given to Dramatifts, 
I enclofed it within my theatrical paling. However I may 
have till'd the land, I irufl he difcovers no intentional injury 
to him, in my proceeding. 

To «U the Performers (excepting Mr. Kt-mele) 1 oiFer 
jny hearty thanks for their exertions ; which would h^ve 
iwved me more^ had uot an aftcr^ ^*' dark as Erehus''' call a 



gloom upon, which none of their effort^,- hovevcr bril- 
liant, could emirdy difpcrfe : 

But tills does not dimlnifh my obligations to tlicm : — fo 
mu.h, indeed, I owe to them, that, when the Play was lad 
perform'd, it was lifing, fpite of E7-cl/us, in favour with the 
Town. It WAS, then, advertifcd, day after day, at the bot- 
tom of the Play bills, for repetition, till the promiflbry advejg- 
tifement became laughable; and, at length, the advertKe- 
ment and the Play were dropt together. 

If, after the foregoing Preface, I fliould at a future period, 
bring the May forward in the Hay-market Theatre, lam 
fully aware of the nunibers who from party, and pique, may 
nowoppofeit. I am aware, too, of the weight which a firfl 
imprefTion leaves upon the minds of the molt candid: — Still, 
fo llrong is my confidence in the genuine decifion of a Londort. 
audience, who have a fair opportunity of exercifing their judg- 
ment, and feelings, (which they have not had, yet, in refped 
to this play) that 1 believe I fl;all venture an appeal. 

The Piece is, now, printed as it was adled on the Jir/1 7iight» 
that they who pcrufe it may decide whether, even in that fliape, 
(with all the misfortunes, before enumerated, with which it was 
doom'd to ilruggle) it fliould be, for ever, confign'd to moulder 
on the Hiclf. 

The Songs, Duets, and Chorufles, are intended merely 
as vehicles for mufical effe<St. Some ctliicks have pompoufly 
call'd them Lyrick Poetry — that by raifingthem to dignity they 
may more efFc<flually degrade them: as men lift a ftone very 
higb, before they let it fall, when they would completely dafli 
it to pieces. 

I, now, leave the gentle reader to the peru("al of the Play— 
afid, lellmy Father's memory may be injured by miftakes; and, 
in the confufion of afctr-times, the Tranfator of Tinnce^ and 



the Author of The 'Jealous Wife, be fuppofed guilty of the Jron 
Chrji ; Ifhall, were I to rcacli the Patriachal longevity of Me- 
thulaleh, continue (in ali my Dramatick publ cations) tofub* 
icribe myfclf 

GEORGE COLMAN^ the Younger, 

July, 20 th, 1796. 


Dratnatfjsi l^erfonac* 

Sir Edward Mortimer, Mr. KeinbU!!! 

Fitzharding, Mr, Wrou^hton. 

Wilford, Mr. Banmfter,jun, 

Adam Winterton, Mr. Dodd. 

Rawbold, Mr. Barrymore. 

Samfon, Mr. Suett. 

Boy, , Ma/ier Weljb. 

Cook, Mr, Hollingfivortb* 

Peter, Mr. Banks. 

Walter, Mr. MadMs. 

Simon, Mv. Webb. 

Gregory, Mr. Trueman. 

Armftrong, Mr. Kelly. 

Orfun, Mr. R. Palmer, 

ift Robber, Mr. Digmtm. 

2d Robber, . Mr Sedgiuick. 

3d Robber, Mr. Bannijler. 

Robber's Boy, MaftcrWebb, 

Helen ► ; Mifs Farren. 

Blanch, Mrs. Gibbs. 

Dame Rawbold Mifs Tid/ivelL 

Barbara, Signora Storace, 

Judith, Mifs De Camp, 

Scene, /a the New Forej}^ in Hampjhire, and 
in its Bordirs. 




T^e in/iJe of ^awbold's Cottage. Several children^/qualid 
and beggarly, di/covered in different parti of the room : fome 
ajleep. Dame ^\whohi> feated, leaning over the embers of 
the fire. 'Q^th^xka. feated near her. S AM sos fianding irt 
the front of the Jlage. A narroiv ftair-cafe in the bach fcene^ 
A taper burning. The luholefcene exhibits poverty and vjreick' 



JC IVE times, by the taper*s light. 

The hour-glafs I have turn'd to night. 
Firft Boy. — Where's father ? 
Samfon. — He's gone out to roam : 

If he have luck, 

He'll bring a buck, 
Upon his lufty fhoulders, home. 

B ne 


The different 'voices. 
Home ! home ! 
He comes not home ' 
Hark ! from the woodland vale below. 
The diftant clock fiunds, dull, and flow ! 
Borne ! borne ! borne ! 

Smn, — Five o'clock, and father not yet return- 
ed from New Forcft ! An he come not Ihortly, 
the Sun will rife, and roaft the venifon on his 
fhoulders. — Sifter Barbara ! — Well, your rich men 
have no bowels for us lowly ! they little think, 
while they are gorging on the fat haunch of a 
goodly buck, what fatigues we poor honeft fouls 
undergo in ftealing it. — Why, fifter Barbara ! 

2ar. — I am here brother Samfon, (getting up). 

Sam. — Here ! marry, out upon you for an idle 
baggage ! why, you crawl like a fnail. 

Bar,— 'I prithee, now, do not chide mc, Sam« 

Sajn. — 'Tis my humour. I am father's head 
man in his poaching. The rubs I take from him, 
who is above me, I hand down to you, who are 
below me. 'Tis the way of office — where every 
miferable devil domineers it over the next more 
miferable devil that's under him. You may 
fcold fifter Margery, an you will— flie's your 
younger by a twelvemonth. 

Bar. — Truly brother, I would not make any 
one unhappy, for the world. I am content to do 
what I can to pleafe j and to mind the houfe. 

A P L A Y. f 3 

^^;;^, — Truly, a weighty matter ! Thou art e'en 
ready to hang thyfelf, for want of fomcthing to 
while away time. What haft thou much more 
to do than to trim the faggots, nurfe thy mother, 
boil the pot, patch our jackets, kill the poultry, 
cure the hogs, feed the pigs, and comb the chil- 
dren ? 

Bar. — Many might think that no fmall charge, 

Sam. — A mere nothing. — While father and I 
(bate us but the mother and children) have the 
credit of purloining every fingle thing that you 
have the care of. We are up early, and down 
late, in the exercife of our induftry. 

Bar. — I wifh father and you would give up the 

Sam. — No — there is one keen argument to pre- 
vent us. 

Bar. — What's that, brother ? 

Sam, — Hunger. Wouldft have us be rogues, 
and let our family ftarve ? Give up poaching and 
deer-ftealing ! Oons ! doft think we have no con- 
fcience ? Yonder fits mother, poor foul — old, 
helplefs, and crazy. 

Bar. — Alas! brother, 'tis heart-aching to look 
upon her. This very time three years fhe got her 
maim. It was a piteous tempcft:, 

Sam. — Aye — 'twas rough weather. 

Bar. — I never pafs the old oak that was fhiver- 
ed that night, in the ftorm, but 1 am ready to 

B 2 weep. 


weep. It remembers me of the time when all 
our poor family went to ruin. 

Sam. — Pifh — no matter : The cottage was blown 
down — the barn fired — father undone — Well, land- 
lords are flinty hearted — no ht;lp ! what then ? 
We live, don't we ? (Jullenly) 

^<2r.— Troth, brother, very fadly. Father has 
grown defperate ; all is fallen to decay. We live 
by pilfering on the Foreft — and oyr poor mother 
diftradted, and unable to look to the houfe. The 
rafter, which fell in the llorm, ftruck fo heavy upon 
her brain, I fear me, 'twill never again be fett- 

Moth. — Children ! Barbara 1 where's my eldefl 
daughter? She is my darling. 

Bar. — I am here, mother. 

Sam. — Peace, fooi ! you know fhe's doating. 

Moth — Look to the cattle, Barbara ! We muft 
to market to-morrow. My hufband's a rich man. 
We thrive ! we thrive ! Ha, ha, ha ! — oh ! 

Bar. — Oh brother! I cannot bear to fee her 
thus — though, alas ! we have long been ufed to 
it. The little ones too — fcarce cloath'd — hungry 
— almoft Ilarving ! — Indeed, we are a very wretch- 
ed family. 

Sam. — Hark ! Methought I heard a tread.—- 
Hift ! be wary. We mull not open in haftc, for 
fear of furprifes. 

(A knock at the Cottage door.) 


A P L A Y. s 


Samfg/i. Who knocks at this dead hour ? 

Ra-ivbolJ (nxiithout.) A friend. 

Sam/on. How fhould we know, 

A friend from foe ? 
A fignal you maft give. 
Ranvbold (iviihout.) Attend. 

(Rawbold gives three knocks ^ which S am/on count s^ 
finging at intervals.) 

Sam/on, One, two, three ! 

'Tis he. 
Give me the word we fixt to night, 
'Tis Roebuck (in a ^vhi/per to Barbara) 
Raivbold (luithout.) Roebuck, 
Bam/on. That is right. 

Enter now by candle-light. 
RanvhoU. — Open now by candle light. 

Samfon opens the door, and Rawbold enters. 

Raw. — Bar the door. So, fofclv. 

Sam. — What fuccefs, father ? 

Raw. — Good : my Timbs ache for't. f 

Moth. — O brave hufband ! Welcome from the 
court. Thou Ihalt be made a knight 3 and I a 
lady. Ha! ha! 

Raw. — Refl-, reft, poor foul ! — -How you ftand \ 
{to Sam/on). The chair, you gander. 

Sam. — {to Barbara) Why, how you ftand ! the 
chair, you gander ! 

{Ihey hrijtg Rawhold a chair : he Jits. 



Raiv. — Here — take my gun — 'tis unfcrewcd. 
The keepers are abroad. I had fcarce time to get 
it in my pocket. 
(He pulls the guti from a pocket under his coat^ In 

three pieces ^ which Sarnjon Jcrews together ^ while 

they are talking.) 

He ! 'tis fharp work ! Barbara, you jade, come 

Sam. — Barbara, you jade, come hither. 

Raiv. — Who bid thee chide her, lout ! Kifs thy 
old father, wench. Kifs me I fay. — So — why doft 
tremble ? I am rough as a tempefl. Evil fortune 
has blown my lowring nature into turbulence : 
but thou art a bloflbm that doft bend thy head fo 
Iweetly under my gufts of paffion, 'cis pity they 
fhould e'er harm thee. 

Bar. — Indeed, father, I am glad to fee you fafe 

Raw. — I believe thee. Take the keys. Go to 
the locker, in the loft, and bring me a glafs to 
recruit me. (Baj'hara gees out. 

Sam. — Well, father, and fo . 

Raiv. — Peace. — I ha, fliot a buck. 

Sam. — O rare ! Of all the fure aims on the 
borders of the New Forcft, here, give me old 
Gilbert Rawboid -, though I, who am his fon, fay 
it, that fliouldnot fay it. — Where have youftow'd 
him, father? 

Raw, — Under the furze, behind the hovel. 

Come night again, we will draw him in, boy. [ 

have been watch'd. 


A P L A Y. ' 7 

Sam. — Warch'd ! O, the peftllence ! our trade 
wiU be r^oiled if the Groom-Keepers be after us. 
The law will perfccute us father. 

Raw, — Do'fl know Mortimer ? 

Sam. — What, Sir Edward Mortimer?, fure. 
He is head Keeper of the foreft. *Tis he who has 
fhut himfelf up in melancholy. Sees no rich, and 
does fo much good to the poor. 

Raw. — ^He has done me naugjht but evil. A 
gun cannot be carried on the border, here, but he 
has fcent on^t at a league's diftance. He is a thorn 
to me. His fcouts this night were after me — all 
on the watch. I'll be revenged — 1 11 — So, the 
brandy. — Enter Barbara*, with the Liquor, 

Raw. — {after drinking) 'Tis right, ifaith ! 
*- Samf. — That 'tis I'll be fworn j for I fmuggled 
it myfelf. We do not live io near the coaft (oi 

Raw. — Sir Edward Mortimer look to it I 

Barh. — Sir Edward Mortimer ! O, dear father, 
what of him ? 

Raw. — Aye, now thou art all agog ! Thou 
woud*ft hear fumewhat of that fmooth-tongued 
fellow, his fecretary — his clerk, Wilford ; whom 
thou fo often meet'ft in the fored. I have news 
on't. Look how you walk thither again. What, 
thou wouldfl: betray me to him, I v»'arrant ; — con- 
fpjie againft your father, 



Sam. — Aye ; confpire againfl: your father — and 
your tender loving brother, you viper, you ! 

Barl>. — Befhrew me, father, I meant no harm ; 
and, indeed, indeed, Wilford is as handfome a — 
I mean as good a youth as ever breathed. If I 
thought he meant ill by you, I Ihould hate him. 

Raza. — When didft fee him laft ? — Speak ! 

Barl'. You terrify me fo, father, I am fcarce 
able to fpeak. Yefternoon, by the copfe. Twas 
but to read with him the book of fonnets he gave 

Sam. That's the way your fly, grave rogues, 
work into the hearts of the females. I never knew 
any good come of a girl's reading fonnets, with a 
learned clerk, under a copfe. 

Raw. Let me hear no more of your meetingsi^ 
I am content to think you would not plot my un- 

Bark I ?-— O father ! 

Raw, But he may plot yours. Mark me — For- 
tune has thrufl me forth to prowl, like the wolf; — 
but the wolf is anxious for its young. I am an 
outcaft whom hunger has hardened. I violate the 
law J but feeling is not dead within me : and, cal- 
lous villain as I am accounted, I would tear that 
greater villain piecemeal, who would violate my 
child, and rob an old man of the little remains of 
comfort wretchednefs has left him. 


A P L A Y. p 

(A knocking at the door, A voice 'mthout. 
Hilliho! ho!) 

i?^w.— How now ! 

Sam.—Thtxt \ an they be not after us already, 
ril— We have talk'd, coo, 'till tis broad day light. 

IVilferd (without) Open, good mailer Raw- 
bold i I would fpeak to you fuddenly. 

Barh, — O heaven ! *tis the voice of Wilford 

Raw. — Wilford ! I'm glad on't — Now he fhall 
— I'm glad on't. Open the door : Quickly, I fay. 
He (hall fmart for it. 

Sam. — Are you mad, father ? 'Tis we Ihali 
fmart for it. Let in the keeper's head man ! The 
hind quarter of a buck has hung thefe fourteen 
days, in the pantry. 

Raw. — Open, I fay. 

Sam. — O Lord ! I defy any lecretary's nofe not 
to fmell ftolen venifon the moment 'tis thrult 
into our hovel, 

Samson ofens the door. Enter Wilford. 
Wilf. — Save you, good people. You are Gil- 
bert Rawbold, as I take it. 

Raw. — I am. Your meffage here, young man, 
bodes me no good : but I am Gilbert Rawbold — 
and here's my daughter. Do'ft know her ? 

Wilf. — Ah, Barbara, good wench ! how fares 
it with you ? 

C Raw* 


/?^w.— Look on her well — then confult you 
own confcience. 'Tis difficult, haply, for a fe- 
cretary to find one. You are a villain. 

Wilf. — You lie. Hold, I crave pardon. You 
are her father. She is innocent, and you are un- 
happy : I refpe<5t virtue and misfortune too much 
to fhock the one or infult the other. 

Raw, Sdeath ! why meet my daughter in the 
foreft ? 

IVilf, Becaufe I love her. 
Raw, And would ruin her. 
IFilf. That's a flrange way of fhewing one's 
love, methinks. I have a fimple notion, Gilbert, 
that the thought of having taken a bafe advantage 
of a poor girl's afFedlion might go nigh to break a 
man's deep, and give him unquiet dreams : now, 
1 love my night's reft, and fhall do nothing to di- 
fturb it. 
Raw. Would'ft not poifon her mind ? 
TFilf, 'Tis not my method, friend, of dofing 
a patient. Look ye, Gilbert j Her mind is a fair 
flower, ftuck in the rude foil, here, of furround- 
ing ignorance, and fmiling in the chill of poverty : 
- — I would feign cheer it with the little fun-fhine I 
poffefs of comfort and information. My parents 
were poor like her's ; Should occafion ferve, I 
might, haply, were all parties agreed, make her 
my wife. To offer ought elfe would affefl her, 
you, and myfelf ; and I have no talent at making 
three people uneafy at the fame time. 


A PLAY. 11- 

Raw. Your hand. On your own account, we 
are friends, 

Barif. O dear father ! 

Raw. Be filent. Now to your errand, *Tis 
from Mortimer. 

PFilf. I come from Sir Edward. 

Razv. 1 know his malice. He would opprefs 
me with his power. He would ftarve me and my 
family. Search my houfe. 

Sam/. No, father no. You forget the hind 
quarter in the pantry. {^ftdc) 

Raw. Let him do his word : but let him be- 
ware. A tyrant i a villain. 

IVilf. Harkye — he is my mafter. I owe him 
my gratitude ;— every thing:— and had you been 
any but my Barbara's father, and fpoken fo much 
againft him, my indignation had work'd into my 
knuckles, and cram'd the words down your rufly 

Sam. I do begin to perceive how this will end. 
Father will knock down the fecretary as flat as a 

Raw. Why am I Tingled out ? Is there no 
mark for the vengeance of office to fhoot its fhaft 
at but me. This morning, as he dog'd me in the 
f oreft 

TFilf. Hufh, Rawbold. Keep your counfel. 
Should you make it publick he muft notice it. 

Raw. Did he not notice it ? 



PFilf. No matter— but he has fent me thus 
early, Gilbert, with this relief to your dir relTes, 
which he has heard of. Here are twenty marks 
for you and your family. 

Raw. From Sir Edward Mortimer ? 

Wilf. 'Tis his way ; — but he would not have 
it mentioned. He is one of thofc judges who, in 
their office, will never warp the law to fave offend- 
ers : but his private charity bids him aflift the 
jieedy, before their necefiiiies drive them to 
crimes which his public duty muft punifh. 

Raw. Did Mortimer do this ! did he ! hea- 
ven blefs him ! Oh, young man, if you knew half 
the mifery — my wife — my children — Shame ont ! 
I have ftood many a tug, but the drops, now, fall 
in fpiie if me. I am not ungrateful; but I can- 
not Hand it. We will talk of Barbara when I 
have more man about me. 

(Exil up the Jia'tr-caje, 

TVilf. Farewell. I muft home to the lodge 
quickly. Ere this, I warrant, 1 am look'd for. 

Barb, Farewell. 



THE Sun lias tipt the hills with red; 
The lout now flourifhes his flail ; 
The punchy parfon waddles from his bed. 
Heavy, and heated, with his laft night's ale. 

Adieu i 

A P L A Y, 13 

Adieu ! adieu ! I mull be going ; 
The dapper village cock is crowing. 
Adieu, my little Barbara ! 

Barhara. ^ 

Adieu ! — and fhould yoa think upon 
The lowly cottage, when you're gone. 
Where two old Oaks, with ivy deckt. 
Their branches o*er the roof proje£l, 
I pray, good fir, juft recollefl 

That there liyes little Barbara, 


And Samfon too, good Sir, in fmoke and fmothct 
Barbara's very tender — loving brother. 

Firji Boyy to Sam/en, 

Brother, look ! the fun, aloof. 
Peeps through the crannies of the roof. 
Give us food, good brother, pray! 
For we eat nothing yefterday. 

Children, Give us food, good brother, pray ! 

Sam/on. Oh, fire and faggot ! what a fqualling ! 

Barbara, Do not chide *em. ■ 

Samfon. Damn their bawlir;g! 

Hungry ftomachs there's no balking : 
I wifh I could flop their mouths with talking : 
But very good meat is, cent per cent. 
Dearer than very good argument. 

Wilford, Adieu, adieu, 1 muft be going ; 

The dapper village cock is crowing. 
Adieu, my little Barbara ! 
Barhara. Oh, think on little Barbara. 

Children. Give US foad ! 

Samfon. Curfe their /ijualling* 




Wilford and Barbara. Adieu! adieu! 

Sam/on. Damn their bawling. 

Sam/on, Wilford, and Barbara, 
Adieu my little Barbara • 
Oh, think on little Barbara ! 
You'll think on little Barbara, 


SCENE II. Jn old fafiiond Hallj in Sir Ed- 
ward Mortimer's Lodge, 

Several Servants crofs the Stage, with Fhggons, 
tankards. Cold meaty &c. &c. 

Enter Adam Winterton. 

Wint. Softly, varlets, fofcly ! See you crack 
none of the (lone flaggons. Nay, 'tis plain your 
own breakfalts be toward, by your fkuttling thus.-— 
A goodly nnorning ! Why, you giddy-pated 
knave, {to one ofthefervajits,) is it fo you carry a 
difh of pottery ? No heed of our good mafler. 
Sir Edward Mortimer's ware ? Fie, Peter Pick- 
bone, fie 1 

Serv. — I am in hade, mafler Steward, to break 
my fafl. 

Wint. — To break thy faft I — to break thy neck, 
it fhould feem. Ha ! ha ! good i'faith ! — Go thy 
ways knave ! (^Exit fervant.) 'Tis thus the 
rogues ever have me, I would feign be angry 
with them, but, flraight, a merry jell pafleth acrofs 



A P L A Y. tj 

me, and my choler is over. To break thy neck 
it fhould feem ! ha, ha ! 'twas well conceited, by 

St. Thomas ! My table-book, for the bufinefs 

of the day. Ah, my memory holds not as it did. 
It needs the four. {^Looking over his book,) Nine 
and forty years have I been houfe-fteward and 
butler. Let me fee,— Six winters ago, come 
Chriftmas eve, died my old mafter, ftr Marma- 
duke. — Ah ! he was a heavy lofs. I look'd to 
drop before him. He was hale and tough : — bur, 
thank heaven, I ha* feen him out, my dear old 
mafterJ Let me fee — my tables : {^Looking ov^r 
them andftnging. 

When birds do carrol on the bufh, 
Witli a heigh no nonnv heigho! 

Enter Cook, 

Cook. — Mafter Steward ! Good mafter Winter- 
ton ! 

IVhit. — Who calls merry old Adam Winterton ? 
Ha, Jacob Cook ! Well bethought — the dinner. 
Nay, I bear a brain : thinking men will combine. 
I never fee Jacob Cook but it reminds me of order- 
ing dinner. We mult have what fay my tar- 

bles we mufl have, Jacob Nay, by St. 

Thomas, I perceive 'twas Chriftmas zwtjeven yeari 
died my good old mafter, fir xMarmaduke. 

Cook, — I pray you dcfpatch me, good mailer 
fteward. I would beftir in time. 



IVint. — Then I would counfel thee to rife earh'er, 
Jacob -y for truth to fay thou art a fluggard. Ha ! 
good i'faith ! — Let me fee ; — Dinner — oh ! Haft 
thou prepared the fare I order'd yefler-night ? 

Cook, — All kill'd, and ready : but will not Sir 
Edward Mortinaer pall on his diet ? 'Tis the very 
fame bill of fare we ferv'd yefterday. 

IVint. — Hey — let me fee^ — I have fettled the 
dinners throughout the week in my tables. Now, 
by our lady, I have miftaken, and read Thurfday 
twice over ! — Ha ! ha ! ha !<— A peflileijpe upon 
me ! Well Sir Edward, (heaven blefs him !) mufl 
bear with me. He mufl: e*en dine to day on what 
he dined on yefterday ! — 'tis too late to be chang- 
ed. Get thee gone, knave, get thee gone. 

Cook.~-'( Going out.) — Age has fo ovej^ne this 
old dry-bones he'll Ihortly tumble from tTO fpit. — 
** Thurfday twice over ["--j^rhis comes of being 
able to read. An old buzzard ! Exit. 

Wint. — Thefe fatigues of office fbmewhat wear 
a man. I have had a long leafe on't. I ha' ittxv 
out Queen Mary, Qiieen Elizabeth, and King 
James. *Tis e'en almoft time that I fhould retire, 
to begin to enjoy myfelf. Eh ! by St. Thomas ! 
hither trips the fair miflrefs Blanch. Of all the 
waiting gentlewomen I ever looked on, during 
the two lafl reigns, none flir'd my fancy like this 
little rofe-bud. 

Enter Blanch, 
Blanch. — A p-ood day, good Adam Winterton. 


A P L A Y. 17 

IVint, — What wag ! what tulip ! I never lee 
thee but I am a fcore of years the younger. 

Blanch. — Nay, then, let us not meet often, or 
you will foon be in your fecond child-hood. 

Wint. — What you come from your miftrefs, the 
Lady Helen, in the foreft here ; and would fpeak 
with Sir Edward Mortimer, I warrant ? 

Blanch. — I would. Is his melancholy worfhip 
ftirr^ng yet ? 

IVint. — Fie, you mad-cap ! He is my mailer, 
and your Lady's friend, 

Blanch. — Yes, truly, it feems, her only one, 
poor Lady : he prote6ts her now fhe is left an 

Wint. — A blelTing on his heart I I would it were 
merrier. Well, Ihe is much beholden to Sir Ed- 
ward for his confolation : and he never affords her 
his advice but his bounty is fure to follow it, 

Blanch. — Juft fo a crow will nourifh its nellling: 
he croaks firft, and then gives her food. 

H^inf, — Ha, ha! good i'faith ! — but wicked. 
Thy company will corrupt, and lead me altray. 
Should they happen to marry, (and I have my 
fancies on'r,) I'll dance a galliard with thee in the 
hall, on the round Oak table. Sbud ! when I 
was a youth, I would ha' caper'd with St. Vitus, 
and beat him. 

Blanch. — You are as likely to dance, now, as 
they to marry. What has hindered them, if the par- 

D ties 

i8 T H E I R O N C H E S T; 

ties be agreed? — yet 1 have, now, been with my 
miftrefs thefc two years ; fince Sir Edward firft; 
came hither, and placed her in the cottage, hard 
by his lodge. 

IFini. — Tufli ! family reafuns. — Thou know- 
eft nothing : thou art fcarce catch'd. Two years 
back, when we came from Kent, and Sir Edward 
firft entered on his office, here, of Head Keeper, 
thou wert a Colt, running wild about New Foreft. 
I hired you myfelf to attend on madam Helen. 

Blanch. — Nay I fhall never forget it. But you 
were as frolickfome, then, as J, methinks, Doll 
remember the box on the ear I gave thee, Adam ? 

IFint. — Peace, peace, you pie! an you prate 
thus I'll ftop your mouth. I will, by Saint Thomas! 

Blanch. — An I be inclined to the contrary, I 
do not think you are able to ftop it. 

JVint. — Out, you baggage ! thou haft more 
tricks than a kitten. Well, go thy ways. Sir 
Edward is at his ftudy, and there thou wilt find 
him. Ah, miftrefs Blanch ! had you but feen me 
in the early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign ! 

Blanch. — How old art thou now, Adam ? 

IVint. — Four fcore, come Martlemas : and, b^ 
uar Lady, I can run with a lapwing. 

Blancb.—Q^n^ thou ?— Well faid I— Thou art 
a merry old man, and ftialt have a kifs of pfie, on 
one condition. 

PPlnt. — Shall I ! odftDud, name it, and 'tis mine. 

Blanch. — 7 hen, carch me. (^Runs of.) 


A P L A Y. 19 

IVtHt. — Peftilence out ! there was a time when 
my legs had ferv'd : — but, to fpeak truth, 1 never 
thruft them, now, Into my fcarlet hofe that they 
do not remember me of two flicks of red fealing- 
wax. J was a clean-limb'd (tripling, when I firfl 
ftood behind Sir Marmaduke's arm chair, in the 
old Oak eating-room. 

SONG. Jdam Winter ton. 

Sill Marmadiike was a hearty Knight ; 

Good man ! Old man ! 
He's painted {landing bolt upright. 
With his hofe roll'd over his knee ;— 
His Perriwig's as white as chalk ; 
And on his fift he holds a Hawk ; 

And he looks like the head 
Of an ancient family. 


His dining-room was long and wide ; 

Good man ! Old man ! 
His Spaniels lay by the fire-ftde; — 
And in other pattf, d'ye fee, 
Crofs-bows, tobacco-pipes, old hats, 
A faddle, his wife, and a litter of cats j 
And he look'd like the head 
Of an ancient family. 

He never turned the poor from his gate ; 

Good man ! Old man ! 
But always ready to break the pate 
Of his Country's enemy. 
What knight could do a better thing. 
Than ferve the poor, and fight for his King. 
And fo may every head 
Of an ancient family. 



Efiter Wilford. 

Wilf, — Every new aft of Sir Edward's charity 
fets me a thinking; and the more I think the more 
I am puzzled. 'Tis ftrange that a man fliould 
be fo ill at eafe, who is continually doing good. 
At times, the wild glare of his eye is frightful ; 
and, laft night, when I was writing for him, in the 
library, I could not help fancying I was Ihut up 
with the devil. I would Hake my life there's a 
fecret ; and I could almofl give my life to un- 
ravel it. I muft to him for my morning's em- 
ployment. {CroJJingtheJlage.) 

Wint. — Ah! boy! Wilford! fecretary! whither 
away, lad ? 

IVilf, — Mr.Wintevton ! — Aye, marry, this good 
old man has the clue, could I but coax him to 
give it me. — A good morning to you. Sir! 

Wint. — Yea, and the like to thee, boy. Come, 
thou fhalt have a cup of Canary, from my corner 
cup-board, yonder. 

IVilf. — Not a drop. 

Wint. — Troth, I bear thee a good will for thy 
honeft old dead father's fake. 

Wilf. — I do thankfully perceive it. Sir. Your 
placing me in Sir Edward's family, fome nine 
months ago, when my poor father died, and left 
me friendlefs, will never out of my memory. 

Wint. — Tut, boy, no merit of mine in afTifting 
the friendlefs. 'Tis our duty child. I could never 


A P L A y. 31 

abide to fee honefi induftry chop fallen. I love to 
have folks merry about me, to my heart. 

JVilf. — I v/ould you could iiiflill fome mirth 
into our good mafter Sir Edward. You are an old 
domeflick — the only one he brought with him, 
two years back, from Kent, — and might venture to 
give his fpirits a jog. He ftrems devour'd with 
fplcen and melancholy. 

IVint. — You are a prying boy. — Go to.— -I have 
told thee, a fcore of times, I would not have thee 
curious about our worthy mafter's humour. By 
my troth, I am angry with thee. What a boy like 
you ? a Thou hafV put me in choler. Con- 
tinue this, and I'll undo theej — I'll un -.(bud ! 

I'll unproted thee. — Ha, good, i'faith ! nay, 
marry, my rage holds not long : — flafh and out 
again. Unproteft thee ! — ha 1 'twas exceeding 
good by Saint Thomas ! 

IFilf. — I fhould ceafe to pry, fir, would you 
but once, (as I think you have more than once 
feem'd inclined) gratify my much-raifed cuiiofity. 

JVint. — Well faid, 'ifaich, I do not doubt tliee. 
1 warrant thou wouldft ceafe to enquire, when I 
had told thee all thou wouldft know. — What, 
green-horn, didft think to trap the old man ? — 
Go thy ways, boy ! I have a head. — Old Adam 
Winterton can fift a fubtle fpeech to the bottom. 

IVilf. — Ah, good fir, you need not tell me th it. 
Young as I am, I can admire that experience, in 
another^ which I want myfelf. 


/Fiw/.— rThere Is fomething marvellous engag- 
ing in this young man. You have a world of 
promife, boy. Sixty years ago, in Queen Eliza- 
beth's time, I was juft fuch another. I remem- 
ber Marian Potpan, the farmer's daughter, of 
Stocks Green, was chen enamour'd of me. Well, 
beware how you offend fir Edward. 

IVilf. — I would not, willingly, for the world. 
He has been the kindcft mader to me. He has 
inform'd my mind, reliev'd my diftreffes, cloath'd 
me, fhelter'd me : — but, whilft my fortunes ripen 
in the -warmth of his goodnefs, the frozen gloom 
of his countenance chills me, 

JVint. — Well, well, take heed how you prate 
on't. Out on thefc babbling boys ! There is no 
keeping a fecret with younkers in a family. 

PFilf, — (very eagerly.) What then there is a 
fecret ! ' fis as I guefied after all. 

IVint. — Why, how now, hot- head ? Mercy 

on me ! an this tinder-box boy do not make me 
fliake with apprehenfion. Is it thus you take my 
frequent council ? 

tVilf, — Pear fir, 'tis your council which moft I 
covet. Give me but that ; admit me to your 
confidence; (leer rre with your advice, which I 
ever held excellent, and, with fuch a pilot, I may 
fail profperoufly through a current which, other- 
wife, might wreck me. 


A P L A r. 23 

JVint. — 'Tis melting to fee how unfledged youth 
will fhelter itfelf, like a chicken, under the wing 
of fuch a tough old cock as myfelf! Well, well, 
I'll think on't, boy. 

Ullf.—r-T\\t old anfwer. — Yet;, he foftens apace: 
could I but clench him now — Faith, fir, 'tis a raw 
morning ; and I care not if I tafl:e the canary your 
kindnefs offer'd. 

IVint. — Aha ! lad ! fay'll thou fo ? Juft my 
modeft humour when I was young. I ever refu- 
fed my glafs at firll, but I came to it ere I had 
quitted my company. Here's the key of the cor- 
ner cup-board, yonder. See you do not crack 
the bottle, you heedlefs goofe, you 1 

{IVilford takes out bottle and glajfes.) 

Ha ! fill it up. Od 1 it fparkles curioufly. 

Here's to I prithee, tell me now, Wil- 

ford; didft ever in thy life fee a waiting-gentle- 
woman, with a more inviting eye than the little 
Mrs. Blanch ? 

/F///'-— -Here's Mrs. Blanch— fin«..b.^ 

Wint. — Ah, wag ! well, go thy ways ! Well, 
when 1 was of thy age odfbud ! no mat- 
ter J 'tis pad, now ; — but here's the little Mrs. 
Blanch — (drinks.) 

Wilf. — 'Tis thought, here, fir Edward means to 
marry her lady, Madame Helen. 

Wint. — Nay, I know not. She has long been 
enamour'd of him, poor lady I when he was the 



gay, the gallant fir Edward, in Kent. Ah, well! 
two years make a wond'rous change ! 

JVilf. — Yes, 'tis a good tough love, now a 
days, that will hold out a couple of twelve- 

JVint. — Away, I mean not fo, you giddy pate! 
He is all honour ; and as fteady in his courfe as 
the fun : yet I wonder fometimes he can bear to 
look upon her. 

M^ilf. — Eh ? why fo ? Did not he bring her, 
under his proteflion, to the Forefl: ; fince, 'tis faid, 
fhe loft her relations ? 

fVint. — Hufli, boy ! on your life do not name 
her uncle — I would fay her relations. 

IVilf. — Her uncle ! wherefore ? Where's the 
harm in having an uncle, dead or alive ? 

JVint. — Peace, peace ! In that uncle lyes the 

JVilf. — Indeed ! how good Adam Winterton ? 
I prithee, how ? 

Jl^int. — Ah ! 'twas a heavy day ! Poor fir Ed- 
ward is now a broken fpirit — but if ever a good 
fpirit walk'd the earth in trunk hofe, he is one. 

JVilf. — Let us drink fir Edward's health. 

Ji^'int. — That I would, tho' 'twere a mile to the 
bottom. — (drinJc). Ha, 'tis cheering, i'faith ! 
Well, in troth, I have regard for thee, boy, for 
thy father's fake. 

JVilf — Oh, good fir! and this uncle, you fay — 


A P L A y. ts 

py'tnt. — Of Madam Helen — ah ! there lyes the 

FVilf. —Whsit mifchief can be in him ? why, he 
is dead. 

PP^int — Come nearer— fee you prate not now, 
on your life. Our good mailer, fir Edward, was 
arraign'd on his account, in open court. 

l^llf. — Arraign'd ! how mean you ? 

Wint. — Alas, boy ! tried. — Tried for ■ 

nearer yet — his murder. 

PFtif. — Mu — mur — Murder ! (drops the glafs.) 

Wint. — Why, what ! why, Wilford ! out, alas ! 
the boy's paflion will betray all ! what, Wilford, 
I fay ! 

IVilf. -^You have curdled my blood ! 

Wint. — What, varlet, thou dareft not think ill 
of our worthy mafter ? 

JVilf. — I — I am his fecretary. Often alone with 
him at dead midnight, in his library. The can- 
dles in the fockets — and a man glaring upon me 
who has committed mur — ugh ! 

Wint. — Committed ! Thou art a bafe lyino- 
knave, to fay it: and while I wear a rapier, I'll 

tufh ! Heaven help me ! I forget I am 

fourfcore. Well, well — hear me, petti fli boy, 
hear me. Why, look now, thou dofl: not attend. 

fVilf. — I — I mark; I mark. 

Wint.— I tell thee, then, our good fir Edward 
was beloved in Kent, where he had returned a 
year before from his travels. Madam Helen's 

E uncle 


uncle was hated by all the neighbourhood, rich 
and poor. A mere brute, doft mark me. 

JVilf. — Like enough: but when brutes walk 
upon two legs, the law of the land, thank Heaven! 
will not fuffer us to butcher them. 

Wint. — Go to, you fire-brand ! Our good maf- 
ter labour'd all he could, for many a month, to 
foothe his turbulence ; but in vain. He pick'd a 
quarrel with fir Edward, in the publick county 
aflembly ; nay, the ftrong ruffian ftruck him 
down, and trampled on him. Think on that, 
Wllford ; on our good mafter fir Edward, whofe 
great foul was nigh to burft with the indignity. 

JVilf. — Well, but the end on't. 

Wint. — Why, our young mafter took horfe, 
for his own houfe, determined, as it appear'd, to 
fend a challenge to this white-liver'd giant in the 

Wilf.^l fee. He kill'd him in a duel. That's 
another kind of butchery, which the law allows 
not ; true humanity fhudders at, and falfe honour 

Wint. — See, now, how you fly off! Sir Ed- 
ward's revenge, boy, was baffled. For his anta- 
gonift was found dead in the ftreet, that night ; 
killed, by fome unknown afTafTms, on his return 
from the affembly. 

Wilf. — Indeed ! unknown afTalTms ! 

Wint. — Nay, 'tis plain, our good fir Edward 
had no hand in the wicked ad : for he was tried, 


A P L A Y. 27 

as I told you, at the next affize. Mercy on me ! 
'twas a crowded court ; and how gentle and finnple 
threw up their caps, at his acquittal ! Heaven 
be thank'd ! he was cleared beyond a fhadow of 

^ilf. — He was J I breathe again. *Twas a 
happy thing. *Twas the only way left of cleanfing 
him from a foul fulpicion, 

PTinL — Out alas ! lad, 'tis his principal grief. 
He is full of nice feeling, and high-flown honour, 
and the thought of being tried, for fuch a crime, 
has given him his heart's wound. Poor gentleman 1 
he has fhun'd the world ever fince. He was once 
the life of all company but now ! 

Sir Ed, (without) — Winterton ! 

JVint. — Hark ! fome one calls. Out on thee, 
thou haft funk my fpirits into my heels. Who 
calls merry old Adam Winterton ? 

Sir Edward {without) Adam Winterton ! come 
hither to me. 

JVint. — Nay, by our lady, 'tis Sir Edward him- 
felf! — Peftilenceont! if I feem fad now, 'twill be 
noted. I come, good Sir Edward. 

** When birds — (not a word on thy life) — 
do Carroll on the bulh," 

" With a hey no nonny" Mercy on me ! 


JVil/.—My throat's parch 'd, and my blood 
freezes. A quart of b.-andy couldn't moillen the 
one nor thaw the other. This accounts, then, for 

E 2 all 


all. Poor, unhappy gentlemen ! This unravels all, 
from the firft day of my fervice — when a deep 
groan made me run into the library, and 1 f)und 
him locking up his papers, in th'- iron cheft, as pale 
as afhes. — Kh ? — What can be in tliat cheft ! — 

Perhaps fome proof of no 1 fhuddcr at the fug- 

geftion. — 'Tis not poffible one. lb good can be 

guilty of 1 know not what to think — nor what 

to refolve. But curiofity is roufcd, and, come 
what may, I'll hav^e an eye upon him. {ExiL 

SCENE III.— J Lihary. 

Sir Edward Mortimer difcover'd at a Writing Ta- 
ble. Adam Winterton attending : 

Mart. — 'Tis his firft trefpals, fo we'll quit: him 
Adam : — 
But caution him how he offend again. 
As Keeper of the foreft, I fhould fine him. 

Wint. — Nay that your worfhip Ihould. He'll 
prove, ere long, 
— Mark but my words — a fturdy poacher. Well, 
T'is you know beft. 

Mort. — Well, well, no matter, Adamj — 
He has a wife, and child. 

Wint. — Ah ! blefs your honour ! 

Mor . — They kill'd his dog ? 

Wint.- — Aye, marry, fir : — a lurcher. 
Black Martin Wincot, the groom keeper fnot him ; 
A perilous good aim. — I warrant me. 
The rogue has lived this year upon that lurcher. 

A P L A Y. 29 

Mart. — Poor wretch ! — Oh ! well bethought j 
Send Walter to me — 
I would employ him ; he muft ride for me. 
On bufinefs of much import. 

JVint. — Lackaday ! 
That it fhould chance fo ! I have fent him forth. 
To Winchcfter, to buy me flannel hofe j 
For vvincer's coming on. Good lack 1 that things 
Should fail fo crofly ! 

Mart, — Nay, nay, do not fret — : 
'Tis better that my bufinefs cool, good Adam, 
Than thy old limbs. 

JVint. — Ah ! youVe a kindly heart ! 

Mort. — Is Wilford waiting ? 

Wint. — Wilford 1 mercy on me ! 
I tremble now to hear his name. He is — 
Here in the hall, fir. 

Mort. — Send him in, I prithee. 

IFint. — I fhall, fir. Heaven blels you I hea- 
ven blcfs you ! {^Exit, 

Mort. Good morning, good old heart ! This 
honeft foul 
Would feign look cheery in my houfe's gloom. 
And, like a gay and fturdy ever-green. 
Smiles in the midft of blaft, and defolation. 
Where all around him withers. — Well, well — 

>vither ! 
Peri(h this frail and fickle frame ! — this clay. 
That, in it's drofs-like compound, doth contain 
The mind's pure ore and eflence. — Oh ! that mind ! 
That mind of man 1 that god-like fpring of adlion ! 



That fource, whence Learning, Virtue, Honour, 

flow !— 
Which lifts us to the ftars ; which carries us 
O'er the fwoln waters of the angry deep, 
Asfwallows fkim the air. — That Fame's fole foun- 
tain ! 
That doth tranfnnit a fair, and fpotlefs nanne 
When the vile trunk is rotten : — Give me that ! 
Oh ! give me but to live, in after-age, 
Remember'd and unfullied ! — Heaven and earth ! 
Let my pure flame of Honour ftiine in ftory. 
When I am cold in death — and the flow fire. 
That wears my vitals now, will no more move mc 
Than 'twould a corpfe within a monument. 
(y^ knock at the door of the library^ 
How now ! Who's there ? Come in. 
{Enter JVilford.) 
Wilrord ! is't you ? You were not wont to knock. 
Wilf^-^\ fear'd I might furprize you, fir. 
Mort — Surprize me ! 

Wilf,'—\ mean — difturb you, fir : — yes — at your 
ftudies — 
Difturb you at your fliudies. 

Mort. — Very fi:range 1 
You were not ufed to be fo cautious. 
;F///.— No— 

I never ufed — but I — hum — I have learnt ! 

Mort. — Learnt ! 

Wilf. — Better manners, fir. I was quite raw, 
W'hen, in your bounty, you firft flielter'd me : 
But, thanks to your great goodnefs, and the lefibns 


A P L A Y. 31 

Of Mr. Winterton, I ftill improve. 
And pick up fomething daily. 

Mort. — Aye, indeed 1 
Winterton ! — No he dare not — Hark you, fir. 

(Jleppng up to him) 

Mort. — {retreating from him ) . W hat am I about I 
— Oh, honour ! honour ! 
Thy pile (hould be fo uniform, difplace 
One atom of thee, and the flighteft breath 
Of a rude pcafant makes thy owner tremble 
For his whole building. Reach me, from the flielf. 
The volume I was bulled in, lall night. 

/r///.— Lad night, fir ? 

Mort. — Aye ; — it treats of Alexander. 

fVilf. — 'Oh, I remember, fir — of Macedon. 
1 made fome extrafts, by your order, {goes to the 

Mort. — Books 
(My only commerce, now,) will fometimes roufemc 
Beyond my nature. I have been fo warm'd. 
So heated by a well-turn'd rhapfody. 
That I have feem'd the hero of the tale, 
So glowingly defciibed. Draw me a man 
Struggling for Fame, attaining, keeping it. 
Dead ages fince, and the Hiftorian 
Decking his memory, in polifh'd phrafe. 
And I can follow him through every turn. 
Grow wild in his exploits, myfelf himfelf. 
Until the thick pulfation of my heart 
Wakes me, to ponder on the thing I am. 



PVilf. — {giving him the hook) 
To my poor chinking, fir, this Alexander 
Would fcarcely roufe a man to follow him. 

Mort. — Indeed ! why fo lad ? He is reckon'd 
Wife, generous, learn'd, by older heads than 
Wilf. — I cannot tell, fir : — I have bat a glean- 
ing. — 
He conquer'd all the world; — but left uncon- 

A world of his own paflions — and they led him, 
(It feems fo there) on petty provocation. 
Even to murder. (Mortimer ft arts — Wilford and 

he exchange looks — both confufed.) 
I have touch'd the firing — 

*Twas unawares — I can not help it. {^ftde') 

Mort. — (attempting to recover himfelf,) — Wilford 

■ Vv^ilford I you miftake the charatfler 

I, mark you — he — death and eternal tortures ! 
{dajhes the book on the floors and flexes Wilford) 
Slave I I will crulh thee I pulverife thy frame ! 
That no vile particle of prying nature 

May Ha, ha ha 1 — I will not harm thee> 

boy — 
O, agony! {Exit, 

Wilf. — Is this the high-flown honour, and de- 
licate feeling, old Winterton talk'd of, that can- 
not bear a glance at the trial ? — Delicate ! had I 
been born under a throttling planet, I had never 


A P L A Y. 33 

furvived this collaring. This may be guilt. If 

fo well, what have I to do with the knowledge 

ont ! — what could I do ? cut off my benefa6tor ! 
who gives me bread ! who is refpefted for his vir- 
tues, pitied for his misfortune*;, loved by his fa- 
mily, blefs'd bv the poor ! — Pooh 1 he is innocent. 
This is his pride and fhame . He was acquitted — 
Thoufands witnefs'd it — thoufands rejoiced at it 

— thoufands eh ? the key left in the iron cheft ! 

Circumftance and myftery tempt me at every 
turn. Ought I — no matter. Thefe are no com- 
mon incitements and I fubmit to the impulfe. I 
heard him ftride down the ftairs. It opens with a 
fpring I fee. I tremble in every joint, {goes to the 

Enter Sir Edward Mortimer. 

Mort. — I had forgot the key and ha! by 

hell ! 
{Sees Wilford ; Jnatches a pijiol from the tabkj rmis 
up to him^ and holds it to his head. Wilford on 
his knees i claps down the lid of the trunk which he 
had jufl opend. Jfter an apparent firuggle cf 
mind, Mortimer throws the piflol from him.) 
Mort. — Begone 1 Come back. — Come hi- 
ther to me. 
Mark me — I fee thou doft at every turn — 
And I have noted thee too. Thou haft found 
(I know not how) fome clue to my difgrace: — 
Aye, my difgrace — we muft not mince it now— ' 
Fublick diihoaour ! — trod on ! — buffeted I 

F Then 


Then tried as the foul demon who had foild 
My manly means of vengeance. Anguifh gnaws 

me : 
Mountains of fhame are piled upon me ! — Me, 
Who have made Fame my idol. *Twas enough ! 
But fomething mufl be fuper-added. You,— 
A worm, a viper I have warm'd, muft plant. 
In venom'd fport, your fting into my wounds, 
Too tender e'en for tendernefs to touch. 
And work me into madnefs. Thou wouldft 

My very Have ! my very innocence; 

Ne'er doubted yet by judges nor arraigners. 
Wretch! you have wrung this from me. Be 

I am funk low enough. 

Wilf. — {returning the key) Oh, fir ! I ever 
Honour'd and loved you. But I merit all. 
My pafTions hurried me I know not wither. 
Do with me as you pleafe, my kind, wrong'd 

mafter ! 
Difcard me — thruft me forth — nay, kill me !— 

Mott. Kill you ! 

JVilf. I know not what I fay. —I know but this. 
That I would die to i^\t you. 

Enter a Servant. 

. Servant. Sir, your brother 
Is jufl: alighted at the gate. 


A P L A Y, 35 

Mort. My brother ! 
He could not time it worfe. Wi^brd, remember. 
Come, (hew me to him. (Exit with fervant, 

JVilf. Remember! I fliall never while I live 
forget it : nay, I jfhall never while I live forgive 
myfelf. My knees knock together ftill ; and the 
cold drops ftand on my forehead, like rain-water 
on a pent-houfe. 

Enter Barbara^ 

harb. Wilford ! 

Wilf, Eh ? Barbara ! How camelt thou here ? 

Barb. With my father, who waits below to fee 
Sir Edward. 

JVilf. He He is bulled ; he cannot fee 

him now. He is with his brother. 

Barb. Troth, I am forry for it. My poor fa- 
ther's heart is burfting with gratitude, and he 
would fain eafe it by pouring out his thanks to his 
benefaftor. Oh, Wilford, your's is a happy 
lot to have fuch a mafter as Sir Edward. 

Wilf. Happy ? Oh ! yes— I— I am very happy 

Barb. Mercy ! has any ill befallen you ? 

Wilf. No; nothing. *Tis all my happinefs. 
My happinefs is like your father's gratitude, Bar- 
bara ; and, at times, it goes near to choak me. 

Barb. Nay, I'm fure there's more in this. Blefs 
me, you look pale ! I cou'dn't bear to fee you 
ill, or uneafy, Wilford. 



mif. Cou'dn't you, Barbara? Well, well, I 
fhall be better prefently. 'Tis nothing of import, 

£arl^. Trull me, I hope not. 

PFi/f. Well, que (lion me no more on'c now, 
I befeech you, Barbara. 

Bari>. Believe me, I would not queftion you 
but to cunfole you, Wilford. I would fcoin to 
pry into any one's grief j much more your's, Wil- 
ford, to fatisfy a bufy curiofity. Though, I am 
told, there are fuch in the world who would. 

fVtlf. I 1 am afraid there are, Barbara. 

But come, no more of this. 'Tis a pafling cloud 
on my fpirirs, and will foon blow over. 

Bari^. Ah ! could 1 govern your fortunes, foul 
weather fliould ne'er harm you. 

Wilf. Should not it, fweet ! Kifs me. (Kijfes 
her.) The lips of a woman are a fovereign cor- 
dial for melancholy. 


Wilford and Barbara. 

Wilf, Sweet little Barbara, when you are advancing. 
Sweet liitjc Barbara, my cares you remove ; 

Barh. Poor little Barbara can feel her heart dancing, 
When little Barbara is met by her love. 

Wilf. When I am grieved, love ! oh, what would you fay 1 

Barb, Tattle to you, love, 

And prrittle tn you, love. 
And laugh your grief and care away. 

Wilf. Sweet little Barbara, &c. 

Barb, Poor Utile Barbara, &c. 


A P L A Y. 37 

WUf. Yet, dcareft Barbara, look all through the nation, 
Care, foon or late, my love, is ev'ry man's lot. 

Barb. Sorrow and melancholy, grief and vexation. 
When we are young and jolly, foon is forgot. 

Wilf. When we grow old, love ! then what will you fay ? 

Barb. Tattle to you, love. 

And prattle to you, love, 
And laugh your grief and care away. 

Wilf. Sweet little Barbara, &c. 

Barb. Poor little Barbara, &c. 





SCENE l.-^The New Forejl. 

Enter Armstrong and Orson-, 


(jrO to — I tell thee, Orfon, (as I have told 
thee more than once) thou art too fanguinary. 

Or/. — And, I tell you. Captain Armftrong — but 
always under favour, you being our leader — you 
are too humane. 

Jrni — Humanity is fcarcely counted a fault: if 
fo, 'tis a fault on the right fide. 

Orf. — Umph ! perhaps not with us. We are 

Jrm. — And why fliould robbers lack human- 
ity ? They who plunder moft refpefl it as a virtue, 
and make a fhew on't to guild their vires. Law- 
yers, Phyficians, Placemen, all all plunder 

and flay, but all pretend to humanity. 

0?/.— They are Regulars, and plunder bylicence. 

Jrm. — Then let us Quacks fet the regulars a 
better example. 

Orf. — This humanity, Captain, is a high horfe 
you are ever beftride upon. Some day, mark 
my word, he'll fling you. 

A P L A Y. 39 

Arm. — Cruelty is a more dangerous bead : — ■ 
When the rider's thrown, his brains are kick'd 
out, and no one pities him. 

Or/. — Like enough j — but your tough horfc- 
man, who ventures boldly, is never difmounted. 
When I am engaged in a defperate chace, (as we 
are. Captain,) I ftick at nothing. I hate milk fops. 

Jrm. — And love mutiny. Take heed, Orfon, 
I have before caution'd you not to glance at me, 

O;/. — I fay nothing : but if fome efcape to in- 
form againft us, whom we have rob'd, 'tis none 
of my fault. Dead men tell no tales. 

Arm. — Wretch! Speak that again, and you 
fliall tell none, {holds a carbine to his head.) 

Or/. — Flalli away ! — I don't fear death. 

Ann. — More fhame for thee i for thou art unfit 
to meet it. 

Orf. — I know my trade. I fet powder, ball, 
and rope, at defiance. 

Arm. — Brute ! You miftake headftrong infen- 
fibility for courage. Do not miftake my horror of 
it for cowardice: fori, who fh udder at cruelty, 
will fell your boldnefs to the earth, when I fee you 
practice it. Submit. 

Orf. — I do. I know not what 'tis, but I have 
told you, often, there is fomething about you 

awes me. 1 cannot tell 1 could kill twenty to 

your one. 

Arm. — There 'cio.- Thou wouldft dart upon 

the weak unguarded mah, like a tyger. A ferocious 



animal, whether crawling or ereft, ever (links from 
fair oppofition. 

OrJ. — My courage was never yet doubted, Cap- 

Arm. — Your nerves, foal. Thou art a mere 
machine. Could I but give it motion, I would 
take an oak from the foreft, here, clap a flint into 
it for heart, and make as bold a fellow as thou art, 
Liften to my orders. 

OrJ. — I obey. 

Arm. — Get thee to our den. Put on thy dif 
guife — then hie thee to the market town for pro- 

vifion, for our company. Here Here is part 

of the fpoil we took yeller-night : fee you bring 
an honeft account of what you lay out. (givwg 

OrJ. My nonour ! 

Arm. Well, I do not doubt thee, here. Our 
profeffion is fingular; it's followers do not cheat 
one another. You will not be back till dufk. See 
you fall not on any poor draggling peafant, as you 

OrJ. I would feign encounter the folitary man, 
who is fometimes wandering by night about the 
foreft. He is rich. 

Arm. Not for your life. 'Tis Sir Edward 
Mortimer, the head keeper. Touch him .not j 
'tis too near home. Befides, he is no object for 
plunder. I have watch'd him, at midnight, fteal- 
ing ffom his lodge, to wander like one crazed. 


A P L A Y.l 41 

He is good, too, to the poor j and fhould walk 
unmolefted by Charity's charter. 'Twere pity that 
he who adminiflers to neceflity, all day, Ihould be 
rifled by neceflity at night. An thou fhouldfl: 
meet him, I charge thee fpare him. 

OrJ. I mufl:, if it be your order. This fparing 
dodrine will go nigh, at laft:, to ftarve all the 
thieves. When a man takes to the trade of a wolf, 
he fliould not go like a lamb to his bufinefs. {Exit. 

Arm, This fellow is a downright villain : Har- 
den'd and relentlefs. I have felt, in my penury, 
the world trample on me. It has driven me to 
take that, defperately, which wanting I fliould 
llarvc. Death ! my fpirit cannot brook to fee a 
(leek knave walk negligently by his fellow in mi- 
fery, and fuffer him to rot. I will wrench that 
comfort from him which he will not befliow. — But 
nature puts a bar : — Let him adminift:er to my 
wants, and pafs on : — I have done with him. 



When the Robber his viftim has noted, 

When the Free-booter darts on his prey, 
Let Humanity fpare the devoted ; "" 

Let Mercy forbid him to flay. 

Since my hope is by penury blighted. 

My fword muft the traveller daunt ; 
I will fnatch from the rich man, benighted, 
The gold he denies to my want. 

G But 


But the viftim when, once, I have noted, 

At my foot, when I look on my prey, 
Let Humanity fpare the deroted ; 

Let Mercy forbid me to flay. 

SCENE II. The Hall in Sir Edward Morti- 
mer's Lodge. 

Enter Fitzharding. 

Fitz. Well, bufinefs muft be minded : — but he 
A tedious time, methinks. — You fellow ! 

(To a Jew ant crojfwg the hall. 
Ser. Sir! 

Fitz. Where is Sir Triflful ? Where's Don Me- 
lancholy ? 
Serv. Who, fir ? 

Fitz, My brother, knave, Sir Edward Mor- 
Serv. He was with you, but now, fir 
Fitz. Sir, I thank you j — 
That's information. Louts, and ferving-men. 
Can never parley ftraight. I met a fellow. 
Here, on my way acrofs the heath, — a Hind — 
And aflc'd how far to Lymington : I look'd 
The anfwer would have bolted from his chops. 
Bounce, like a pellet from a popgun. — No : — 
He flared, and fcratch'd his empty head, and cried, 

" Where do you come from r"^ Who brought 

in my luggage ? 
Serv. It was not 1, fir. 


A P L A Y. 43 

Fitz. There ! — They never can ! 

Go to your mailer ; pray him co defpatch 

His houfhold-work : — tell him I hate fat Folios. 

Plague ! when I crofs the country, here, to fee 

He leaves me ram'd into an elbow chair. 

With a huge, heavy book, that makes me nod. 

Then tumbles on my toes. Tell him, do'ft hear. 

Captain Fitzharding's company has tired me. 

Serv. Who's company ?— — 

Fiiz. My own, knave. 

Serv. Sir, I Ihall. (^Exit, 

fitz. A book to me's a fovereign Narcotick i 
A lump of opium j every line a dofe. 
Edward is all deep reading, and black letter j 
He Ihews it in his very chin. He fpeaks 
Mere Diflionary i and he pores on pages 
That give plain men the head-ach. " Scarce, 

and curious," 
Are baits his learning nibbles at. His brain 
Is cram'd with mouldy volumes, cramp, and ufe- 

Like a librarian's lumber-room. — Poor fellow ! 
Grief will do much ! — well ! fome it drives to 

And fbme to drinking : — 'twill do much ! — this 

A fool to fret fo for't ! his honour's clear. 
Tut ! I'm a foldier — know what honour is. 
Had I been flandcr'd, and a fair Court martial 

G 2 Cleanled 


Cleanfed me from calumny, as white as fnow, 
I had ne'er moped, and fumed, and winced, and 

But fat down heart-whole. Plague upon't ! this 

Appears the very cave of melancholy. 
Nay, hold, I lie : — here comes a petticoat. 

Enter Blanch, 
Od ! a rare wench ! This is the bed edition 
In Edward's whole collcdion. Here, come hither ! 
Let m.e perufe you. 

Blanch. Would you fpeak with me. Sir ? 

Fitz. Aye, child. I'm going now to read you. 

Blanch. Read me ! 
You'll find me full of errors, fir, 

Fitz. No matter. 
Come nearer, child : I cannot fee to read 
At fuch a diftance. 

Blanch. You had better, fir. 
Put on your fpeftacles. 

Fitz. Aye, there fhe has me ! 
A plague upon old Time ! old fcythe and hour- 

Has fet his mark upon me. Harkye, child : 
You do not know me. You and I muft have 
Better acquaintance. 

Blanch. O, I've heard of you. 
You are Sir Edward's Sir — his brother. 

Fitz, Aye — his half brother— by the mother'* 


A P L A Y. 45 

His elder brother. 

Blanch. Yes, Sir, I fee that. 

Fitz. This gypfey's tongue is like her eye : I 
know not 
Which is the fharpeft. Tell me what's your 

Blanch. My name is Blanch, Sir — born, here, 
in the foreft. 

Fitz, Sbud ! I muft be a Keeper in this forefl:. 
Whither art going, fwcetone ? 

Blanch. Home, fir. 

Fitz. Home ! 
Why is not this thy home ? 

Blanch. No, Sir ; I live 
Some half mile hence — with madam* Helen, fir, 
1 brought a letter from her, to Sir Edward. 

Fitz. (^dfo, with Helen 1 — fo — with her ! — the 
Of my grave brother's groaning pafTion. Plague ! 
I would 'twere in the houfe. I do not like 
Your rheumatick, Otlober affignations. 
Under an elm, by moonlight. This will end 
In ilannels and fciatica. My pafllon 
Is not Arcadian. Tell me, pretty one. 
Shall I walk with you, home ? 

Blanch. No, Sir, I thank you ; 
It would fatigue you, fadly. 

Fitz. Fatigue me ! 
Oons ! this wild foreft filly, here, would make mc 
Grandfather to Mcthufaleh. Look here — 
Here is a purie of money, 



Blanch. — O, the father ! 
What will you give me any ? 

Fi^z. — Gold I find 
The univerial key j the paffe par tout. 
It will unlock a foreft maiden's heart. 
As eafy as a politician's. Here ; 
Here are two pieces, rofe-bud. Buy a top-knot ; 
Make thyfclf happy with them. 

Blanch. That 1 will. 
The poor old woman, northward of the lodge. 
Lies fick in bed. I'll take her this, poor foul. 
To comfort her. 

Fitz. Hold ! — hey the devil ! — hold. 
This was not meant to comfort an old woman. 

Blanch. Why, would'nt you relieve her. Sir? 

Fitz. Um ? ^yes : — 

But — pfhaw! pooh, prithee — there's a time for 

all things. 
Why tell me of her now, — of an old fool, — 
Of comforting the aged, now ? 

Blanch. I thought 
That you might have a fellow feeling, Sir. 

Fitz. This little paftoral devil's laughing at me ! 
Oons 1 come and kifs me, jade. I am a Soldier, 
And Juftice of the Peace. 

Blanch. Then, fhame upon you ! 
Your double calling might have taught you better. 
I fee your drift now. Take your dirt again, 

(throws down the money.) 
Good Captain- Juftice ! — Stoop for it, — and think 


A P L A Y. 47 

How an old Soldier, and a Juflice, looks. 
When he is picking up the bribes he offers. 
To injure thofe he fhould protedj — die helplefs. 
The poor, and innocent. Exit, 

Fitz. I warrant me, 
Could I but fee my face, now, in a glafs. 
That I look wond'rous (heepifh. I'm aftiamed 
To pick up the two pieces. — Let them lye. — 
I would not wrong the innocent ; — good reafon j— 
There be fo few that are fo : — fhe is honed ; 
I muft make reparation. Odfo ! Wilford ! 

Enter Wilford, 

How fares it, boy ? 

TVilf, I thank you, fir. I hope you have en- 
Your health, thefe three months pad, fince laft 

you honour'd us 
With your good prefence at the lodge. 

Fitz. Indifferent. 
Some cramps and Ihooting pains, boy. I have 

Some cadi here, but I am afraid to bend 
To pick it up again, lead it diould give me 
An aukward twinge. Stoop for it, honed Wilford. 
There's a good lad ! 

fVilf. Right willingly, Siv.(^Picks up the 'money.) 
Fitz. So ! 
The Soldier and the Judice fave their blufhes. — 
Now, CriTV it, I prithee, at your leifure. 



To an old gofTip, near the lodge here — north- 
ward — 
Tve heard of her — (lie's bed-ridden, and fick. 
You need not fay who fent you. 

JVilf. I conceive. 
'Tis private bounty i that's true charity. 

Fitz. Nay, pifh ! — my charity I— — 

IVilf^ Nay, I could fwear 
'Tis not the firfl time you have offered this 
In (ecret. 

Fitz. Um ! — why no ;— not quite the fird. 
But tell me, lad, how jogs the world here, eh ? 
In Rueful Caftle? — What, fome three^months back. 
We two were cronies. What haft thou forgot ? 
Thou wert my favourite here, man. 

tVilf. Sir, you honour'd me 
By faying fo. 

Fitz. Tut ! honour'd ! — tut — a fig ! 
Thou art grown ftarch and fad. This air is catch- 
Thou art infedled. Harkye, Wilford, harkye ! 
Thou'rt a fly rogue ! What you could never tell 

Of Helen's waiting maid ; the little cherry j — 
Of plague upon her name I — of— — — 

fVilf. Blanch, Sir? 

Fitz. Blanch : 
That's it;— the foreft fairy. — You and I 
Muft have fome talk about her. 

Pnif. Have you fccn her ? 

A P L A Y. 49 

Fiiz, Jiift now : juft gone. Od 1 I have 
blunder'd horribly ! 

You mud know, lad connc hither. 

(They retire to the back of thefceneJ) 

Enter Sir Edward Mortimer. 

Mort, Now for my brother, and — Ha ! Wil- 
ford with him ! 
That imp is made my fcourge. They whifper too. 
O! I had rather court the thunder-bolt. 
To melt my bones, and pound me to a mafs. 
Than fuffcr this vile canker to corrode me. 
Wilford ! 

JVilf, Who calls ? — eh ! — 'tis fir Edward. 
Fitz. Mum ! 

Mort, I feem to interrupt you. 
JVilf, {earnejily,) No, indeed. 
No, on my life, fir : — we were only talking 


Fitz, Hold your tongue. Oons ! boy, you 

muft not tell. 
Mort, Not ! 
Fitz, Not ! not to be fure : — why, 'tis a fe- 

IFilf, You Ihall know all, fir.— 'Twas a trifle- 
nothing — 
In faith you fhall know all. 

Fitz. In faith you lie. 
Be fatisficd, good Edward : — 'tis a toy. — 

H But 


But, of all men, I would not have thee know on't. 
It is a tender fubjed:. 

Mort. Aye, indeed ! 

Fitz. May not I have my fecret ? Oons ! 
good brother. 
What would you lay, now, lliould a meddling 

Bufy his brains with matters, though but trivial. 
Which concern you alone ? 

Mort. I'd have him rot : 
Die piecemeal ; pine ; moulder in mifery. 
Agent, and facrifice to Heaven's wrath. 
When caftigating plagues are hurl'd on man. 
Stands lean, and lynx-eyed Curiofity, 
Watching his neighbour's foul. Sleeplefs himfelf 
To banilh fleep from others. Like a Leech 
Sucking the blood-drops from a care-worn heart, 
He gorges on't — then renders up his food. 
To noiirifh Calumny, his foul-lung'd mate. 
Who carries Rumour's trumpet j and whofe breath, 
Tnfedting the wide furface of the world, 
Strikes peftilence and blight. O, fie ont ! fie ! 
Whip me the curious wretch from pole to pole ! 
Who writhes in fire, and fcorches all around him, 
A vidim making vidims! 

Fitz. By the mafs, 
'Twere a found whipping that, from pole to pole! 
From conftable to conftable m-ght ferve. 
E'en you yourfelf were like to prove, but now. 


A PL A Y. 51 

This Leech, that's yoke-fellow, you fay, to Scan- 
The bad-breath'd trumpeter. 

Mart. Your pardon, brother; 
1 had forgot. Wilford, I've bufinefs for you. 
Wiic for me — aye — an hour after dinner. 
Wait for me in the Hbrary. 

U^ilf, The library ! 

I ficken at the found, {afide.) Wait there for you 

and — 
Captain Fitzharding, fir ? 

Mo7t, For me, alone. 

Wilf. Alone, fir! 

hlort. Yes, — begone, 

mif. I fhall, fir— but. 
If I have ever breath'd a fyllable 
That might difpleafe you may 

Mort. Fool ! breathe no more. 

Wilf, I'm dumb. 
I'd rather ftep into a Lion's den 
Than meet him in the Hbrary ! — I go, Sir. Kxii. 

Fitz, Brother, you are too harfii with that poor 

Mort, Brother, a man muft rule his family 
In his own way. 

Fitz, Well, well, well— Don't be touchy. 
I fpeak not to ofi^end : I only fpeak 
On a friend's privilege. The poor are men, 
And have their feelings, brother. 

Mort, So have I ! 


Fiiz. One of the beft that we can (hew, believe 

Is mlldnefs to a fervant. Servants, brother. 

Are born with fortune's yoke about their necks ; 

And that is galling in itfelf enough ; 

We fhould not goad them under it. The mafter 

Should rather cheer them in their fervitude. 

With kindly words — ^not too familiar neither ; 

But utter'd with that air which true benevolence 

Imparts to dignified nobility. 

Mort. Brother, your hand. Youhaveagen^ 
tie nature — 

May no milchance e'er ruffle it, my brother ! 

I've known thee from my infancy, old foldier; 

And never did I know — I do not flatter — 

A heart more ftout, more cafed with hardy man- 

More full of milk within. Trufl me, dear friend. 

If admiration of thy charity 

May argue charity in the admirer, 

I am not deflitute. 

Fitz. You ! — I have feen you 

Sometimes o'erflow with it. 
Mort, And what avails it ? 

Honour has been my theme ; good will to man 

My ftudy. 1 have labour'd for a name 

As white as mountain fnow^ dazzling, and fpeck- 

Shame on't ! 'tis blur'd with blots ! Fate, like a 


A p L A y. s$ 

Ruins the virtuous harvefl I would reap, 
And all my crop is weeds. 

Filz, Why, hotv now, brother! 
This is all fpleen. You mope yourfelf too much. 
In this dull forell, here. Twenty blue devils 
Are dancing jigs, and hornpipes, in your brains. 
Fie, fie ! be more a man. 

MorL Well, I have done. 

Fitz. Come, what's for dinner ? Od ! I mean 
to eat 

MorL I know not, brother. Ilonell Winter- 
Will tell you all. 

Fitz. What he ! old Adam ! he ! 

My merry buck of Paradife ? Odfo ! 

Ihave not feen him. Well, he Ihall produce 
A flaggon of the beftj and, after dinner. 
We will be jovial. Come, come, roufe you, man ! 
I came on purpofe, thirty miles from home. 
To jog your fpirits. Prithee, now, be gay ! 
And, prithee, too, be kind to iny young favourite ! 
To Wilford there. 

Morf. Well, well ; I hope I have been. 

Fiiz. No doubt, in aftions : — but in words, 
and looks. — 
A rugged look's a damper to a greenhorn. 
I watch'd him, now, when you frown'd angerly ; 
And he betray 'd 

MorL Betray'd ! 

Fuz. Ten tlioufand fears. 



Mort. Oh ! 

Fitz. The poor devil couldn't Ihcw more feared 
Had you e'en held a piftol to his head. 

{Mortimer Jlarts. ) 
Why hey-day ! what's the matter ? 

Mort. Brother I 

Quciron me not; my nerves are afpin-like; 
The ilig'uefl: breath will Ihake 'cm. Come, good 
Fitz. You'll promife to be gay ? 
Mort, I'll do my beil. 

Fitz. Why that's well faid ! A man can do no 
Od ! I believe my ratding talk has given you 
A ftir already. 

Mort. I'hat it has indeed ! 
Come, brother 1 


SCENE III. Helen's Cottage. 

Enter Helen and Samjon, 

Helen, Are you he that wifh to enter in my fer- 

Sam/. Yes, fo pleafe you. Madam Helen, for 
want of a better. 

Helen. Why, I have feen you in the foreft — ^at 
Rawbold's cottage. He is your father, as I think. 

Samf. Yes, fo pleafe you, Madam j for want 
of a betcer. 


A P L A Y. SS 

Helen. I fear mc you may well fay that. Your 
father, as I have heard, bears an ill name, in the 

Sam/. Alas ! madam, he is obliged to bear it 
— for want of a better. Wc are all familh'd, ma- 
dam: and the naked and hungry have feldom 
many friends to fpeak well of them. 

Helen, If I Ihduld hire thee, who will give 
thee a charai^ler ? 

Samf. My father, madam. 

Helen. Why firrah, he has none of his own; 

Sam/. The more fatherly in him, madam, to 
give his fon what he has need of, for himfelf. But 
a knave is often applied to, to vouch for a good 
fervant's honefty. 1 will ferve you as faitlifully as 
your laft footman -, who, I have heard, ran away 
this morning. 

Helen. Truly, he did fo. 

Sam/ I was toldon't, fome half hour ago ; and 
ran, hungrily, hither, to offer myfelf. So, pleafe 
you, let not poverty (land in the way of my pre- 

Helen, Should I entertain you, what could you 
do to make yourfelf ufeful : 

Sam/ Any thing. I can wire hares, fnare 
partridges, Ihoot a buck, and fmuggle brandy, 
for you, madam. 

Helen. Fie on you, knave ! 'Twere fitter to 
turn you over to the Verderors of the forefl, for 


56 T H E I R N C H E S T ,• 

punlflimcnt, than to encourage you in fuch prac- 

SamJ. I would praflice any thing better, that 
might get me bread. I would fcrape trenchers, '1 
fill buckets, and carry a melTage, What can a 
man do ! He can't flarve. 

Helen. Well, firrah, to fnatch thee from evil, 
I care not if I make trial of thee? 

SamJ^ No ! will you ? 

Helen. Nineteen in twenty might queftion my 
prudence for this : — but, whatever lofs I may fuf- 
fer from thy roguery, the thought of having open'd 
a path to lead a needy wanderer back to virtue 
will more than repay me. 

SamJ, O, blefs you, lady! If 1 do not prove 
virtuous never truft in man more. I am overjoy'd 1 

Helen. Get thee to the kitchen. You will find 
a livery there will fuit you. 

SamJ. A livery ! O, the father ! Virtuous and 
a livery, all in a few feconds 1 Heaven blefs you ! 

Helen. Well, get you to your work. 

SamJ. I go, madam. If I break any thing to 
day, befecch you let it go for nothing; for joy 
makes my hand tremble. Should you want me 
pleafe to cry Samfon, and I am with you in a 
twinkling. Heaven blefs you ! Here's fortune ! 


Helen. Blanch (lays a tedious time. Heaven 
fend Mortimer's health be not worfc ! He is fadly 
altered fince we came to the forelt. I dream'd laft 




night, of the fire he faved me from ; and I faw 
him, all frefh, in manly bloom, bearing me through 
the flames, even as it once happened. 

Enter Blanch, t 

Helen. How now wench ! You have almofl 

tired my patience. 

Blanch. And my own legs, madam. If the 
old footman had not made fo much ufe of his, by 
running away, they might have fpared mine. 

Helen. Inform me of Sir Edward IVIortimer. 
Haft ^ttn him ? 

Blanch, Yes, I have, madam. 

Helen. Say ; tell me j 
How look'd he ? how's his health ? is he in fpirits ? 
What faid he, Blanch ? Will he be here to day ? 

Blanch, A little breath, madam, and I will an- 
fwer all, duly. 

Helen. O ! fie upon thee, wench ! 
Thefe interrogatories fliould be anfwered 
Quicker than breath can utter them. 

Blanch. That's impofllble, lady. 

Helen. Thou would'ft not fay fo hadll thou ever 
Love has a fleeter meffenger than fpeech, 
To tell love's meaning. His expreflcs pofl 
Upon the orbs of vifion, ere the tongue 
Can fliapc them into words. A lover's look 
Is his heart's Mercury. O ! the Eye's eloquence, 

I Twin' 


Twin-born with though*-, outftrips the tardy voice. 
Far fwifter than the nimble lig tning's flafh 
The fluggifh thunder peal that follows it. 

Blanch. I am notlkiU'd in eye-taiking, madam. 
I have been ufed to let my difourfe ride upon my 
tongue, and, 1 have been told, 'twill trot at a good 
round pace upon occafion. 

Hel. Then let it gallop, now, befeech you, 
And bring me news of Mortimer. 

Blanch. Then, madam, i f :.w Sir Edward in his 
library : and delivered your letter. He will be 
here either in the evening, or on the morrow : *iis 
uncertain which — for his brother, Captain Fitz- 
harding, u arrived on a vifit to him. 
. Hel. Is he ? — well, that may fomewhat raifc 

his fpirits. 
That foldier has a pleafant, harmlefs mind. 
Mirth gilds his age, and fits upon his brow 
Like fun in winter. I ne'er law a man 
More cheerful in decline, m.ore laughter-loving. 
More gay, and frolickfome. 

Blan. Z'rolickfoine enough, if you knew all — 
but not fo harmlefs. {afide) 

Hel. He'll icnrce be here to night. 

Blanch. V/ho ? Sii Edward ? Ilaply not, madam : 
but his letter may cnancc to fpecify further parti- 

//<f/.>His letter! Has he written? — fie upon 
thee ! 


A P L A y. 5^^ 

Vv^ny didfl not give it me, at once ? Where is it* 
Thou art turn'd dreamer, wench ! — Come, quickly. 

Blanch. You talk'd to me fo much of reading 
eyes, madam, that I e'en forgot the letter. Here 
it is. 

Helen. Come to me, fiiortly, in my cabinet: 
I'll lead it there — I am almoft unfit 
To open it~ i ne'er receive his letters 
But my hand trembles. Well, I know 'tis filly. 
And yet I cannot help it. I will ring; 
Then come to me good Blanch — not yet. My 

Now for your letter ! {Exit, 

Blanch. I would they were wedded once, and 
all this trembling would be over. I am told 
your married lady's feelings are little roufed in 
reading letters from a hufband. 

Eitter Samson — dreji in a Livery. 

Sam. This fudden turn of fortune might pufF 
fame men up with pride. I have look'd in the 
glafs already : — and if ever man look'd braver in 
a glafs than I, I know nothing of finery. 

Blanch. Hey day ! who have we here ? 

. Sam. Oh, lord 1 this is the maid. 1 mean 

the waiting- woman. I warrant we fhall be rare 
company, in a long winter's evening. 

Blanch. Why, who are you ? 

Sam. I'm your fellow-ferrant : — the new comer. 
I 2 The 


The laft footman call his fkin in the pantry this 
morning, and I have crept into it. 

Blanch, Why, fure, it cannot be ! — Now I look 
upon you again, you are Samfon Rawbold — old 
Rawbold's fon, of the foreft here. 

Sam. The fame ; I am not like fome upftarts ; 
When I am prol^erous, I do not turn my bac^ on 
my poor relations. 

Blanch, What, has my lady hired thee? 

Sam. She has taken me, like a pad nag, upon 

Blanch. I fufpeft you will play her a jade's trick, 
and Humble in your probation. You have been 
caught tripping, ere now. 

Sam. An I do not give content 'tis none of my 
fault. A man's qualities cannot come out all at 
once. I wifli you would teach me a little how to 
lay a cloth. 

Blanch. You are well qualified for your office 
truly, not to know that, 

Samf. To fay truth, we had little praftice that 
way at home. We flood not upon forms. We 
had fometimes no cloth for a dinner. 

Blanch. And, fometimes, no dinner for a cloth, 

Sam. Juft fo. We had little order in our family. 

Blanch. Well, I will inftru6l you. 

Sa7n. That's kind. I will be grateful. They 
tell me 1 have learnt nothing but wickcdnefs yet: 
but I will inftru6t you in any thing I know, in 


A P L A Y. 6t 

Blanch, There I have no mind to become your 
fcholar. But be fteady in your fervice, and you 
may outlive your beggary, and grow into refpeft. 

Sam. Nay, an riches rain upon me, relpeft will 
grow of courfe. I never knew a rich man yet who 
wanted followers to pull off their caps to him", 


• Samson. 


A traveller ftopt at a widow's gate ; 

Ske kept an Inn, and he wanted to bait ; -— < 

• But the landlady flighted her gueft : 
For when Nature was making an ugly race, 
She certainly moulded this traveller's face 

Asa fample for all the reft. 
The chamber-maid's fides they were ready to crack. 
When fhe faw his queer nofe, and the hump at his back ; — 

A hump is'nt handfome, no doubt/— 
And though 'tis confefs'd, that the prejudice goes. 
Very ftrongly, in favour of wearing a nofe. 

Yet a nofe fhould'nt look like a fnout. 
A bag full of gold on the table he laid— 
'Thad a wond'rous efFe£l on the widow and maid ! 

And they quickly grew marvellous civil. 
The money immediately alter'd the cafe ; 
Tiiey were charm'dwith his hump, and his fnout, and his face, 

Tho' he Hill might have frighted the devil. 
He paid like a prince — gave the widow a fmack— 
Then flop'd on his horfe, at the door, like a fack j 

While Uie landlady, touching the chink, 



Criedi — " Sir, fliould you travel this country again, 
*' I heartily hope that the fweeteft of men 

•* Will flop at the widow's to drink." Exeunt 

SCENE IV. The Library. 

WiLFORD, difcover'd. 
Wilf. I would Sir Edward were come ! The 
dread of a fearful encounter is, ofcen, as terrible 
as the encounter itfdf. Yet my encounters with 
him, of late, are no trifles. Some few hours back, 
in this very room, he held a loaded piflol within 
an inch of my brains. Well, that was pafTion — he 
threw it from him on the inftant, and — eh !— • 
He's coming. — No. The old wainfcot cracks, and 
frightens me out of my wits: and, I verily be- 
lieve, the great folio dropt on mv head, juft now, 
from the flielf, on purpofe to encreafe my terrors. 

{Enter Sir Edward Mortimer, at one door of 
the Library^ which he locks after him. Wilford 
turns round on hearing him Jhut it.) 

Wilf What's that? — 'Tis he himfelf! Mercy 
on me ! he has lock'd the door ! — What is going 
to become of me ! 

Mort. Wilford ! -Isnoone inthepiiSture-gallery? 

Wilf, No not a foul. Sir— —Not a human 

None within healing, if I were to bawl 
Ever fo loud. 


A PLAY. 6^ 

Mo?t. Lock yonder door. 

mif. The door, Sir ! 

Mort. Do as I bid you. 

JVilf, What, Sir ? Lock {^Mortimer waves 

with his hand) 

I fhail. Sir. (going to the door and locking it) 
His face has little anger in it, neither : 
*Tis rather maik'd with forrow, and diftrefs. 

Mort Wilford approach me. — What ami to fajr 
For aiming at your life ! — Do you not fcorn me, 
Defpife mc for it ? 

mif. I! Oh, Sir! 

Mort. You muft. 

For I am fingled from the herd of men, 

A vile, heart-broken wretch ! 
Wtlf. Indeed, indeed. Sir, 

You deeply wrong yourfelf. Your equal's love. 
The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gra- 
All follow you : — and I ! — I owe you all ! 
I am mod bound to blefs you. 

Mort. Mark me, Wilford. — 
I know the value of the orphan's tear. 
The poor man's prayer, refped from the refpeftedi 
I feel to merit thefe, and to obtain them. 
Is to tafte here, below, that thrilling cordial 
Which the remunerating Angel draws. 
From the eternal fountain of delight. 
To pour on blefled fouls, that enter heaven. 

I feel 


I feel this: — I! — How muft my nature, then. 
Revolt at him v/ho feeks to ftain his hand. 
In human blood ? — and yet it feems, this day, 
I fought your life. — O ! I have fuffer'd madncfs — 
None know my tortures — pangs ! — but I can end 

them : 
End them as far as appertains to thee. — < 
I have refolv'd it. — Hell-born ftruggles tear me ! 
But I have ponder'd on't, — and I muft truft thee. 

fFilf. Your confidence fhall not be ■ ■ 

Mart. You muft fwear. 

Wilf. Swear, Sir! — will nothing but an oathj, 
then ' 

Mort. Liften. 
May all the ills that wait on frail humanity 
Be doubled on your head, if you difclofe 
My fatal feeret ! May your body turn 
Moft lazar-like, and loathfome ; and your mind 
More loathfome than your body ! May thofe fiends 
Who ftrangle babes, for very wantonnefs. 
Shrink back, andfhudder at your monftrous crimes. 
And, fhrinking, curfe you ! Palfies ftrike your 

youth ! 
And the fharp terrors of a guilty mind 
Poifon your aged days ; while all your nights. 
As on the earth you lay your houfelefs head. 
Out-horror horror ! May you quit the world 
Abhor'd, fclf-hated, hopelefs for the next. 
Your life a burthen, and your death a fear ! 

A P L A Y. $5 

tVilf, For mercy's fake, forbear ! you terrify 
me ! 

Mort. Hope this may fall upon thee j — Swear 
thou hoped it. 
By every attribute which heaven, earth, hell, 
Can lend, to bind, and ftrengthen conjuration. 
If thou betray'ft me. 

Wilf, Well I (hefitating,) 

Mort. No retreating ! 

TVilf. {after a pauje,') 
I fwear, by all the ties that bind a man, 
Divine, or human, — ^never to divulge I 

Mort. Remember you have fought this fecrct - 
'Extorted it. I have not thruft it on you. 
'Tis big with danger to you ; and to me. 
While I prepare to fpeak, torment unutterable. 
Know, Wilford that damnation ! 

IVilf. Deareft Sir! 
Colle6t yourfelf. This Iliakea you horribly. 
You had this trembling, it is fcarce a week. 
At Madam Helen's. 

Mort. There it is. — Her Uncle ! 

Wilf. Her uncle ! 

Mort, Him. She knows it not — None know 
it — 
You are the firft ordained to hear me fay, 
I am' his murderer. 

Wilf. O, heaven ! 

Mort. His affaflin. 

K mij\ 


fVi/f. What you that — mur — the murder — • 

I am choak'd ! 
MorL Honour, thou blood-flain'd God ! ar 

whofe red altar 
Sit War and Homicide, O, to what madnefs 
Will infult drive thy votaries ! By heaven. 
In the world's range there does not breathe a man 
Whofe brutal nature I more (trove to foothe. 
With long forbearance, kindnefs, courtefy. 
Than his who fell by me. But he dilgraced me, 
Stain'd me, — oh, death, and fbame ! — the world 

look'd on. 
And faw this finewy favage flrike me downj 
Rain blows upon me, drag me to and fro. 
On the bafe earth, like carrion. Defperation, 
In every fibre of my frame, cried vengeance ! 
I left the room, which he had quitted. Chance, 
(Curie on the chance !) while boiling with my 

Thruft me againfthim, darkling, in the ftreet : — 
I ftab'd him to the heart : — and my oppreiTor 
KoU'd, lifelefs, at my foot. 

J^ilf, Oh ! mercy on me ! 
How could this deed be cover'd ! 

MorL Would you think it ? 
E'en at the moment when I gave the blow, 
Butcher'd a fellow-creature in the dark, 
I had all good mens love. But mydifgrace. 
And my opponent's death, thus link'd with ir. 
Demanded notice of the magiftracy. 


A P L A Y. (ij 

They fummoii'd me, as friend would fiimmon friend. 
Toads of import, and communication. 
We met: and 'twas refolved, to ftifle rumour. 
To put me on my trial. No accufer. 
No evidence appeared, to urge it on. — 
*T was meant to clear my fame . — How clear it> then ? 
How cover it ? you fay. — Why, by a Lie: — 
G uilt's offspring, and its guard. I taught this bread, 
W hich Truth once made her throne, to forge a lit » 
This tongue to utter it. — Rounded a tale. 
Smooth as a Seraph's fong from Satan's mouth; 
S o well compafted, that the o'er throng'd court 
Difturb'd cooljuftice, in her judgment-feat. 
By fhouting " Innocence!" ere 1 had finifh'd. 
The Court enlarged me ; and the giddy rabble 
Bore me, in triumph, home. Aye ! — look upon 

me. — 
I know thy fight aches at me. 

Wilf. Heaven forgive me ! 
I think I love you ftil! : — but I am young; 

I know not what to fay : — it mav be wrong. 

Indeed I pity you. 

Mort. I difdain all pity. — 
I afk no confolation. Idle boy ! 
Think'ft thou that this compulfive confidence 
Was given to move thy pity ?~Love of fame 
(For ftill 1 cling to it) has urged me, tiius. 
To quafli thy curious mifchief in it's birth. 
Hurt honour, in an evil, curfed hour. 
Drove mc to murder— lying :^'twould again, 

K 2 My 


My honefty, — fweet peace of mindj — all, all I 
Are barter 'd for a name. I will maintain it. 
Should (lander whifper o'er my fepiilchre. 
And my foul's agency furvive in death, 
I could embody it with heaven's lightning. 
And the hot fhaftof my infulted fpirit 
Should (Irike the blafter of memory 
Dead in the church-yard. Boy, I would not kill 

thee : 
Thy rafhnefs and difcernment threaten'd danger : 
To check them there was no way left but this : — 
Save one — your death : — you ihall not be my viftim, 

IVil/, My death ! What take my life I — My 
life ! to prop 
This empty honour. 

T'Jort, Empty ! Groveling fool I 

Tf"!f. I am your fervant. Sir: child of your 
bounty ; 
And know my obligation. I have been 
Too curious, haply j 'tis the fault of youth. 
I ne'er meant injury : if it would ferve you, 
I would lay down my life -, I'd give it freely : — 
Could you, then, have the heart to rob me of it? 
You could not; — (hould not. 

Mcrr. How ! 

TVi/f. You dare not. 

Mort. Dare not I 

TVilf, Some hours ago you durfl not. PafTion 

moved you ; 
Refleflion inierpofed, and held your arm. 
But, fliould rcficdlion prompt you to attempt it. 


A P L A Y. 6g 

My innocence would give me flrength to druggie. 
And wrell the murderous weapon from your hand. 
How would you look to find a peafant boy 
Return the knife you level'd at his heart ; 
And aik you which in heaven would fliewthe beft, 
A rich man's honour, or a poor man's honelly ? 

Mori. 'Tis plain 1 dare not take your life. To 
fpare it, 
I have endanger'd mine. But dread my power; — 
You know not it's extent. Be warn'd in time : 
Trifle not with my feelings. Liiten, Sir I 
Myriads of engines, which my fecret working 
Can roufe to action, now encircle you. 
I fpeak not vaguely. You have heard my princi- 
ple 3 
Have heard, already, what it can efFc(5l: : 
Be cautious how you thwart it. Shun my brother^ 
Your ruin hangs upon a thread : Provoke me. 
And it ihall fall upon you. Dare to make 
The flighteft movement to awjike my fears. 
And the gaunt criminal, naked and ftake-tied. 
Left on the heath to blifter in the fun, 
*Till lingering death (hall end his agony. 
Compared to thee, fhall feem more enviable 
Than Cherubs to the damn*d, 

fVi/f. O, miferyl 
Difcard me fir ! I muftbe hateful to you. 
Banifh me hence. I will be mute as death ; 
But let me quit your fervice, 




Mcrt, Never. — Fool ! 
To buy this fecrer, you have fold yourfelf. 
Your movements, eyes, and, mod of all, your 

From this time forth, are fctter'd to my will. 
You have faid, truly : you are hateful to me : — 
Yet you fhail feel my bounty : — that fliall flow, 
And fweli your fortunes ; but my inmoft foul 
Will yearn with loathing, when — hark ! fome one 

knocks ! 
Open the door. 
[Wilford opens the dooVy and Winterton comes /«.] 
Mort. How now, Winterton ? 
Did you knock more than once ? Speak — did you 

— I mean, good Adam, did you Vv'ait ? — Aye, wait 
Long at the door, here ? 

J'Vint. Blefs your honour ! no. 
You are too good to let the old man wait. 

Mort, What, then, our talk, here — Wilford's 
here and mine — 
Did not detain you at the door r — Ha ! — did it l 
IVint. Not halfafccond. 
Mort. Oh ! — well, what's the matter ? 
JVint. Captain Fitzharding, Sir, entreats your 
I've placed another flaggon on the table. 
Your worfliip knows it, — Number thirty-five: — 
The fupernaculum. 


A p L A y. 

Mort. Well, well. — I come. 
What, has he been alone ? 

Wint. No — IVe been with him. 
Od ! he's a merry man ! and does 'io jeft ! 
He calls me firft of men, caufe my name 's Adavn, 
Well ! 'tis exceeding pleafant, by St. Thomas ! 

Mort. Come, Adam^ I'll attend the Captain. 
— Wilford, 
What I have jult now given you in charge. 
Be fore to keep fait lock'd. I Ihall be angry, — 
Be very angry if I find you carelefs. 
Follow me, Adam, 

Exit Mortimer— -Winterton following, 

Wilf, This houfe is no houfe for me. Fly I 
will, J am refolved : — but whither ? His threats 
ftrike terror into me \ and were I to reach the pole, 
1 doubt whether I fhould elude his grafp. But to 
live here a flave — flave to his fears, — his jealoufies ! 
Night's coming on. Darknefs be my friend ! for 
I will forth inftantly. The thought of my inno- 
cence will cheer me as I wander thro' the gloom. 
Oh ! when guilty Ambition writhes upon its couch, 
why fliould bare- foot Integrity repine, though 
it's fweet deep be canopied with a ragged hovel ! 




SCENE Y.-^-The infide of an Abbey^ in ruins* 
Part of it converted into an habitation for Rob- 
bers. Various entrances to their apartment, 
through the broken arches of the buildings &c. &c. 

£;z/i?r JuDiTHi andaViQ-^, 

Jud. Well, firrah ! have you been upon the 
fcoiir ? Are any of our gang returning ? 

Boy. No, Judith 1 not a foul. 

Jud. The rogues tarry thus to fret mc. 

Boy. Why, indeed, Judith, the credit of your 
cookery is loft among thieves. They never come 
pun6lual to their meals. 

Jud. No tidings of Orfon yet, from the mar- 
ket town ? 

Boy. I liave feen nothing of him. 

Jud. Brat ! thou dofl never bring me good news. 

Boy. Judith, you are ever fo crofs with me ! 

Jud. That wretch Orfon Qights my love of 
late. Hence, you hemp-feed, hence ! Get to 
the broken porch of the abbey, and watch. Tis 
all you are good for. 

Boy. You know I am but young yet, Judith ! 
but with good inftruftions, I may be a robber, in 

Jud. Away, you imp ! you will never reach 
fuch preferment. (^A ivhijlle without.^ So ! I 
hear fom.e of our party. [JVhifllc again \ the boy 
puts his fingers in his mouth, and whifiles in an/wer.) 


A P L A Yi 


Jud, Why mufl you keep your noife, firrah ? 

Boy. Nay, Judith, 'tis one of the firft fteps we 
j)0 7s learn in the profelTion. I fhall ne'er come to 
gjod, if you check me fo. Huzza ! here come 
tno ! 

Enter two Robbers, through the broken pari of 
the Scene, 

Jud. So ! you have found your road at laft. A 
murrain light upon you ! is it thus you keep your 
hours ? 

17? Rob, What, hag, ever at this trade ! Ever 
grumbling ? 

Jud. I have reafon. I toil to no credit; I watch 
with no thanks. I trim up the table for your 
return, and no one returns in due time to notics 
my induftry. Your meat is fcorch'd to cinders. 
Rogues, would it were poifon for you ! 

id Rob, How the fury raves ! Here, take my 
carbine ; 'twas Icvell'd, fome half hour fince, at a 
traveller's head* 

Jud. Hah, hah, hah ! Rare ! Didft llioot him ? 

1/ Rob. Shoot him ? No. This devil in petti- 
Coats thinks no more of flaying a man, than killing 
a cock-chafer. I never knew, a woman turn to 
mifchief, that ihe did not outdo a man, clean. 

Jud. Did any of you meet Orfon on your way ? 

ift Rob. Aye, there the hand points. When 
that fellow is abroad you are more favage than 
cuftomaryi and that is needlefs. 

L ^d 


id Rob. None of our comrades come yet ? They 
will be finely foak'd. 

17? Rob. Aye, the rain pours like a fpout upon 
,fiie ruins of the old abbey wall here. 

Jud. I'm glad on't. May it drench them, and 
breed agues ! 'twill teach them to keep time. 

ijl Rob. Peace ! thou abominable railer. A 
man had better dwell in purgatory, than have thee 
in his habitation. — Peace, devil! or I'll make thee 

Jud. You ! 'tis as much as thy life is worth to 
move my fpleen. 

17? Rob, What, you will fet Orfon, your cham- 
pion, upon me ? 

Jud, Coward ! he Ihould not difgrace himfclf 
with chaftifing thee. 

17? Rob. Death and thunder ! ■ 

Jud. Aye, attack a woman, do ! it fuits your 
hen-hearted valour. Aflault a woman ! 

17? Rob, Well — paflion hurried me. But I have 
a refpe6l for the foft fex, and am cool again. Come, 
Judith, be friends. — Nay, come, do ; and 1 will 
give thee a farthingale, I took from a lawyer's 

Jud. Where is it ? 

17? Rob, You Ihall have it. 

Jud. Well— I Hark! 

id Rob. Soft ! I think I hear the foot of a 





Robbers and Judith. 
Lilten ! No ; it is the owl. 
That hoots upon the mould'ring tow'r. 
Hark ! the rain beats, the night is foul ! 
Our comrades ftay beyond their hour. 
Liften 1 

All's hufh'd around the abbey wall. 

Soft ! Now I hear a robber's call ! 
Liften ! 

They whittle ! — Anfwer it ! 'Tis nigh ! 

Again ! A comrade comes.— 'Tis I ! 
And here another ; and here another ! 
Who comes ! A brother. Who comes ? 
A brother. 
Now they all come pouring In ; 
Our jollity will foon begin. 
Sturdy partners, all appear 1 
We're here ! and here, and here, and here \ 
Thus we ftout freebooters prowl. 
Then meet to drain the flowing bowl ! 

(At different periods of the Muftck, the Robbers enters 
through various parts ofRuinSy in groupt.) 

Enter Orson, with Luggage on his Back, as if rs- 

turn' d from the Market. 

ift. Roh. See ! hither comes Orfon at laft. He 

walks in like plenty, with provifion on his fhoulder. 

fud. O, Orfon !— why did'ft tarry, Orfon ? I 

began to fear. Thou art cold and damp. Lee 

me wring the wet from thy cloaths. O ! my heart 

kaps to fee thee. 

La Rob. 


iji. Roh. Mark how this fhe-bear hugs her bruin \ 

OrJ. Stand off! This hamper has been weari-? 
fome enough. I want not thee on my neck. 

"Jud. Villain ! 'tis thus you ever ufe me. I can 

revenge : — I can do not, dear Orfon 1 do not; 

treat me thus. 

OrJ, Let a man be ever fo fweet temper'd, he 
will meet fomewhat to four it, I have been vex'd 
to madnefs. 

id, Rob. How now, Orfon, what has vex'd thee 

OrJ, A prize has flipt through my fingers. 

3^. Roh. Aye ! marry, how ? 

OrJ, 1 met a ll;aggling knave on foot, and the 
rogue refilled. He had the face to tell me that 
he was thrufl on the world to feek his fortune j 
and that the little he had about him was his all. 
Plague on the provifion at my back ! I had no 
time to rifie him: — but I have fpoil'd him for 
fortune feeking, I warrant him. 

Roh. How ? 

OrJ, Why I beat him to the ground. Whether 
Jie will e'er get up again the next paffenger may 

Jud. Ha ! Ha! O, brave, ! That's my valiant 
Orfon ! 

2^d. Roh. Orfon, you are ever d fobeying our 
Captain's order. You are too remorfelefs and 

OrJ. T^ke heed, then, how you move my an- 

A ? L A y. 77 

ger, by telling me on'u The affair is mine — I 
will anfwer to the confequence. 

4/^. Rob. I hear our Captain's fignal. Here he 
comes. Ha! — he is leading one who feems 

Enter Armstrong, fupporting Wilford. 

Arm. Gently, good fellow I comej keep a good 
heart ! 

fVilf. You are very kind. I had breathed my 
laft, but for your care. Wither have you led me ? 

/ifth. Rob. Where you will be well treated, young- 
ller. You are now among as honourable a knot of 
men as ever cried " (land" to a traveller. 

Wilf. How : among robbers ! 

^th. Rob. Why fo the law's cant calls us gentle- 
men who live at large. 

IVilf. So ! For what am I referved ! 

Arm, Fear nothing. You are fafe in this afy- 
lum. Judith, lead him in. See fome of my linen 
ready, and look to his wound. 

Jud. I do not like the office. Yau are ever at 
thefe tricks. 'Twill ruin us in the end. What 
have we to do with charity ? 

Arm. Turbulent wretch ! obey me. 
Jud. Well, I Ihall, Come, fellow, fince it muft 
be fo. 

Arm. Anon, I'll vifit you myfelf, lad. 
JVilf. Heaven blefs you ! whate'er becomes of 



my life — and faith, I am almcrft weary on't — I am 
bound to your charity. Gently, I pray you — my 
wound pains. — Gently ! 

(Exit, led out by Judith. 

Arm. I would I knew which of you had done 

iji. Rob. Why what's the matter. Captain ? 

Arm. Cruelty is the matter. Had not acci- 
dent led me to the fpot where he lay, yon poor 
boy had bled to death. I learn'd his ftory, partly, 
from him, on the way : and know how bafely he has 
been handled by one of you. Well, time muft 
dilcover him : for he, who had brutality enough 
to commit the aftion, can fcarcely have courage 
enough to confefs it. 

OrJ. Courage, Captain, is a quality, I take it, 
little wanted by any here. What fignify words— 
I did it. 

Arm. I fulpefted thee, Orfon. *Tis fcarce an 
hour fince he, whom thou haft wounded, quitted 
the fervice of Sir Edward Mortimer, in the foreft, 
here; and enquiry will doubtlefs be made. 

id. Rob. Nay then we are all difcover'd. 

Arm. Now, mark what thou haft done. Thou 
haft endanger'd the fafetv of our party ; thou haft 
broke my order (tis not the firft time, by many) 
in attacking a paflenger : — and what pafTenger ? 
One whofe unhappy cafe ftiould have claim'd thy 
I'ity. He told you he had difpleafcd his mafter — 

A P L A Y. <f9 

kftthehoufe of comfort, and with his fcanty pit- 
tance, was wandering round the world to mend his 
fortune. Like a butcher, you ftruck the forlorn 
boy to the earth, and left him to languifh in the 
foreft. Would any of our brave comrades have 
done this ? 

Jll. — None! None! 

j^rm. Comrades, in this cafe, my voice is fm- 
gle. But if it have any weight, this brute, this 
Orfon, fhall be thruft from our community, which 
he has difgraced. Let it not be faid, brothers, 
while want drives us to plunder, that wantonefs 
prompts us to butchery. 

Robbers. O brave Captain ! away with him ! 

OrJ. You had better ponder on't, ere you pro- 
voke me. 

Jlrm. Rafcal ! do you mutter threats. 'You 
cannot terrifye us. Our caUing teems with dan- 
ger — we are not to be daunted by the treachery of 
an informer. We defye you. Go. You dare not 
hurt us. You dare not facrifice fo many brave, 
and gallant fellows, to your revenge, and proclaim 
yourlelf fcoundrel. Begone. 

Or/. Well, if I muft, I muft. I was always a 
friend to you all: but if you are bent on turning 
me out — why — fare you well. 

Robbers, Aye, aye — Away, away. 

Or/. Farewell then. {^Exit, 

Arm, Come, comrades — Think no more of 



this. Let us drown the choler we have felt in 
wine and revelry. 


Jolly Friars tippled here, 
E're thefe Abbey walls had crumbled ; 

Still the ruins boaft good cheer. 
Though long ago the cloyfters tumbled. 
The Monks are gone :— — 
Well! well! 

That's all one : 

Let's ring their knell. 
Ding dong 1 ding dong ! to the bald-patcd monk I 
He fet the example. 
We'll follow his fample, 
And all go to bed moft religioufly drunk. 

Peace to the good fat Friar's foul! 
Who every day. 
Did wet his clay. 
In the deep capacious bowl. 
Huzza ! Huzza ! we'I! drink and we'll fing ! 

We'll laugh, and we'll quaff, 
Aad make the welkin ring ! 





SCENE I. Wimterton's Rooniy in Sir Ed- 
ward Mortimer's Lodge. 

Samson ^»<^ Blanch, dijcoverdj at a 'Table ^ with 
Bottle and Glajfes, 


Samson, you muft drink no more. 

Samf. One more glafs, Miftrefs Blanch, and I 
Ihall be better company. *Twill make me loving. 

Blanch. Nay, then, you fhall not have a drop. 

Samf. I will : — and fo fliall you too. (filling the 
glafs) Who knows but it may make you the lame. 

Blanch. You arewond'rous familiar, Mr. Lour. 

Samf. I would not willingly offend. I will en- 
deavour at more refpeft. My humble duty to 

you. {drinks.') 

Blanch. I would counfel you to be cautious of 
drinking, Samfon. Confider where you are. Wc 
are now, remember, in Sir Edward Mortimer's 

Samf. In the Butler's room; — where drinking 
has always a privilege, (fills.) 

Blanch. What, another ! 

Samf. Do not fear. 'Twill not make me fa- 
M miliar 


miliar again. My lowly refpe^ls to you. (dfifjks) 
This fame old Winterton's wine has a marvellous 
choice flavour. I wonder whether 'twas fmuggled. 

Blanch. Should you totter with this, now, in 
the morning, 'twould go nigh to fliakeyour office 
to the foundation, before night. My Lady would 
never pardon you. 

Samf. 'Twould be hard to turn me adrift, for 
getting drunk, on the fecond day of my fervice. 

Blanch, Truly, I think 'twould be reafon fuffi- 

Sam/. 'Twould not be giving a man a fair trial. 
How fhould Ihe know but I intend to be fober for 
a year after ? 

Blanche How fliould fhe know, indeed ! or any 
one elfe, who has heard of yourfornaer rogueries. 

Sam/. WelJ, the worft fault I had wa§ being a 

Blanch. A. fportfman! out on you, rogue! you 
were a poacher. 

Sam/ Aye, fo the rich nick-name us poor hro,-.. 
thers of the field; and lay us by the heels when we 
do that for hunger which they pradlice for amufe- 
ment. Cannot I move you to take a thimble-full, 
this cold morning r 

Blanch. Not a drop, I. 

Sainf. Hark ! I think I he^ir old Winterton co- 
ming back. By our lady, Miftrefs Blanch, we 
have made a defperate hole in the bottle, fince he 
left us. 


A P L A Y. 83 

Blanch. We ! why, you flanderous rogue, I have 
not tafted it. 

Sara/. No — 'tis not he. 

Blanch. No matter ; he will be back on the in- 
ftant. Leave this idle guzzling, if you have any 
fhame. Think we are attending madam Helen, 
in her vifit to Sir Edward, on his fudden ficknefs. 
Think, too, on the confufion from Wilford's flight. 
Is it a time for you, fot, to tipple, when the whole 
houfe is in diltrefs and melancholy ? 

SamJ. Alas ! I have too tender a heart Miftrefs 
Blanch J and have need of fomewhat, in themidft 
of this forrow, to cheer my fpirits. 

Blanch. This wine will Ihortly give your pro- 
felTions of amendment the lie. 

Samf. Let it give me the lie : 'Tis an affront I 
can eafily fwallow. Come, a bargain — an you will 
take one glafs with me, I will give over. 

Blatich. Well, on that condition 

SamJ. Agreed — for that will juft finifh the bot- 
• tic. (filh) I will drink no health, now, but of 
thy giving. 

Blanch. Then liften and edifye. — May a man 
never infult a woman with his company, when 
drunkcnnefs has made him a brnte. 

Samf. With all niy heart :— But a woman knows 
that man may be made a brute, wlie.i wine is 
dean out of the queflion. Eh ! Here comes the 
old man, in real earneft. 

M 2 Enter 


Enter Adam Winterton. 

Wint. Well, I am here again. — What madcap ? 
—-In truth, I have a world of care. Our good 
mailer taken ill on the fudden. Wilford flown : 
— A bafe, ungrateful boy ! — One that I v/as fo 
fond of: — And to prove fuch a profligate ! I be- 
gan to love the young villain like my own child. 
I had mark'd down the unfortunate boy, in my 

lall teftament : I had Blcfs me ! my cold is 

wondrous troublefome to my eyes, this morning. 

Ah ! 'tis a wicked world : ^But old Winterton 

keeps a merry heart ftill. Do I not, pretty miltrefs ? 

B'n '-b. I hope you do, Adam. 
/F/>f/. Nay, on fecond thought, I do not keep 
it ; for thou haft ftolen it from me, tulip ! ha ! 
good i faith ! — 

Sam/. Ha ! ha ! — Well ifaith that is a good jeft ! 
ha! ha! 

fFi/it, Doft think fo, varlct ? " Thou haft fto- 
len it from me, tulip !" Well, it was ; it was ex- 
ceeding pleafant, by St. Thomas ! Heigho ! I 
muft e'en take a glafs to confole me. One cup to 

eh ! mercy on me ! why the liquor has flown. 

Ha ! the bottle has leak'd, haply. 

Stimf. Yesj Sir : — I crack'd that bottle, myfelf, 
in your abfencc. 

fVint* Crack'd ! Why what a carelefs goofe 


A PLAY. % 

art thou ! thefe unthrifty knaves ! — ah ! times are 
fadly changed for the worfe, fince I was a boy. 

Blanch. Doft think fo, Adann ? 

Adam. Qiieftion any man, of my age, and he 
will fay the fame. Domefticks never broke bot- 
tles in queen Elizabeth's time. Servants were 
better then — aye, marry, and the bottles were bet- 
ter bottles. 'Tis a degenerate world! V/cll; 
heigho ! 

Blanch. Why doft figh thus, Adam ? 

Wint. In truth, this is as heavy a day for me ! — 

Blanch. I hope not, Adam, Come, come, 
things are not fo bad, I warrant thee. You have 
long drank fmilingly of the cup of life, Adam ; 
and when a good man takes hi^' potion iv>i>,'iouc 
murmuring, Providence feldom leaves the bitter- 
eft drop at the bottom. What is the matter, 
Adam ? 

Wint. Alas ! nothing but evil. Thefe attacks 
come on our worthy mafter as thick as hail, and 
weaken him daily. He has been grievous ill, in 
the night, poor foul ! and ne'er (lept a wink fince 
I brought him the news. 

Blanch. What news, good Adam ? 

Wint. Why of Wilford's flight ! — A reprobate ! 
The (hock of his bafenefs has brought on Sir Ed- 
ward's old fymptoms. 

Blanch. What call you his old fymptoms ? 

Wint. The (liiverings, and trembling fits, which 


86 T H E I R O N C H E S T; 

have troubled him thefe two years. I begin to think 
the air of this foreft doth nourifh agues. I can 
never move him to drink enough of canary. I 
think, in my confcience, i had been aguifh myfelf, 
in thefe woods, had I not drank plenty of canary. 

Samf. Mafs, when I am ill, this old boy fhall bt 
my apothecary. {^ajide^ 

Blanch, Well, well, he may aiend. Do not fan- 
cy the v/orfl:, ere worfe arrives, Adam. 

IVint, Nay, worfe has arrived already. 

Blanch. Aye ! marry, how ? 

Wint. Wilford's villany. SirEdward fays, he has 
proofs of the blackeft treachery againfl him. 

BUnch. Indeed ! 

Wint. It chills my old blood to think on't ! 1 had 
mark'd out the boy as a boy of promife — A learn- 
ed boy ! He had the backs of all the books in our 
library by heart : and now a hue and cry is after 
him. Mercy on me ! if the wretched lad be taken. 
Sir Edward will bring him to the charge. Wc 
none know what 'tis yet} but time v.'ill fhew. 

Blanch. You furprize me ! Wilford turn dif- 
honeft ! I could fcarce have credited this -, and 
after two years trial, too. . 

SamJ. O^ monftrous ! to turn rogue after two 
years trial ! Had it happened after two days, in- 
deed, 'twere not to be wonder'd at. 

Enter a Servant. 
Ser. Mr. Winterton, there is a young woman of 
the forell, would fpeak with you. 


A P L A Y. 87 

Wint. Out on't! Thefe cottagers time their 
bufinefs vilely. Well, bid her come in, Simon. 

Ser. And, Midrefs Blaneh, your lady would 
fee you anon, in the breakfaft parlour. [Exit, 

Blanch. I come quickly. Be not cafl down, 
now, Adam -, keep thy old heart merry Hill. 

IVint. Ha ! in truth, I know not well, now, what 
would mend my fpirits. 

Blmifh. What think you of the kifs I promis'd ? 

Wi'i^t. Ah, wag ! go thy v/ay. Od ! thou haft: 
nijnble legs. Had I o'ertaken thee yeflerday 
Ah ! well, no matter. 

Blanch. Come, I will not le^ave thee comfortlefs, 
in thefe fad rimes. Here — Here is my hand, 

Wint, Thou wilt ftiew me a light pair of heels 
again, now. 

Blanch. No, in faith. Come ; 'tis more than I 
would offer to every one. Take it. 

Wint. That I will, moft willingly. (KiJJesher 

Blanch. Do not play the rake now, and boaft of 
my favours ^ for I arn told there is a breed of 
puppies will build ftories, to a fimple girl's preju- 
dice, on (lighter encouragement than this. Be not 
y-ou one of thgfe empty cpxcombs, and fo adieu, 
Adam. [&■/. 

JFint, Nay, I was never given to vaunt. 'Sbud! 
if 1 had, many a tale had been told, fixty years back, 
of young, luity Adain Winterton, — Eh ! why what, 
doft thou titter at, fcapegrace ? 



SamJ. I, fir ? — Not I. {/mothering a laugh, 

Wint. I had forgot this varlet. Peftilence on't ! 

Should this knave prate of my little gallantry, I 

tremble for the good name of poor Miftrefs 

Blanch 1 

Enter Barbara. 

Bar. May I come in, good your worfliip ? 

Wint. Aye, marry, that thou may 'ft, pretty one. 
— Well, though many things have declined, fince I 
was a boy, female beauty keeps its rank ftill. I do 
think there be more pretty women now than there 
were in Queen Elizabeth's reign. 

SamJ, Flefh ! this is our Barbara. (afide, 

Wint. Well, and what wouldft have, fwect one, 

with old Adam Eh! by St. Thomas, why 

thou art fhe I have feen, ere now, with Wilford. 

Barb. Beleech you, tell me where he is, fir ? 

JVint. Alas, child, he's gone — flown ! Eh ? 
what — why art not well, child ? 

Barb. Nothing, fir 1 only 1 hoped he 

would have called at our cottage, ere he quitted 
the forell. Is there no hope that he may come 
back, fir I 

Wint, None, truly, except force bring him back. 
Alas, child! the boy has turn'd out naught; and 
juftice is dogging him at the heels. 

Barh, What Wilford, fir ?— my poor — O, fir, my 
heart is burfting ! I pray you, pardon me. Plad 
he pafs'd our cottage in his flight, I would have ran 
out, and follow'd him all the world over. 


A P L A Y. 8^ 

ff^Ht. To fee what love will do ! Jufl: fo did 
Jane Blackthorn take on for me, when Sir Mar- 
maduke carried me to London, in the hard 

Barb. Befeech you, forgive me, fir ! I only came 
to make enquiry, for I had heard a ftrange tale. 
I would not have my forrows make me trouble- 
fome to your worlhip. 

fVinf, To me ? poor wench ! nay, that thou art 
not. I trufl:, child, I ne'er turn'd a deaf ear, yer> 
to the unfortunate. 'Tis man's office to lillen to 
the forrows of a woman, and do all he can to 
foothe thein. Come, come, dry thy tears. 

Barl>. I look'd to have been his wife Ihortly, fir^ 
He was as kind a youth And, I am fure, he 
wanted not gratitude. I have heard him talk of 
you, as you were his father, fir. 

fFtnL Did he ? Ah ! poor lad. Well, he had 
good qualities j but, alas ! he is now a reprobate. 
Poor boy ! To think, now, that he Ihould fpeak 
kindly of the old man, behind his back ! 

Barl^. Alas, this is the fecond flight to bring 
anhappinefs to our poor family ! 

IVinL The fecond ! How do'ft mean, wench ? 

Barb. My brother, fir, left our cottage fuddenly, 
yefterday morning j and we have no tidings of him 

Sam/. Lo you, nov/, where he ftands, to glad the 
hearts of his difconfolate relations ! Siller Bar- 
bara, why doft not know me ? 

N Bark 

$0 T H E I R O N C H E S T ; 

Barb. Eh ? No — Sure it can't Brother 

Samfon ? 

San7/. Mr. Samron — Head ferving man to the 
Lady Helen, of the New Fored. 

Bm'b. O, the fortune ! can it be ! what gain'd 
thee fo good a place, Samfon ? 

Samf, Merit. I had no interefl to back me. 
Mine is a rare cafe — I was promoted on the fcorc 
of my virtues. 

Wint. Out upon thee ! thy knaveries have been 
the talk of the whole foreft ; and furnilli'd daily 
food for convcrfation. 

SamJ. Truly, then, convcrfation has fared bet- 
ter upon them than I. But my old charadler is 
laid afidewith my old jerkin. I am now exalted. 

Wint, An I have any forecaft in deitiny, friend, 
thou bidft fair, one day, to be more exalted. — ■ 
Ha 1 good ifaith ! Come, you mull to the kitchen 
knave. I mufl thither myfelf, to give order for 
the day. 

Barh. Mufl: I return home, then, your worlliip, 
with no tidings ? 

Wlnt. Ah ! heaven help me 1 what havock dotli 
wanton Cupid make with us all ! Well, tarry about 
the houfe, with thy brother j we may hear fome-, haply, anon. Take care of thy lifter knave ; 
and mark what I have faid to thee. — '* Thou 
bidil fair one day to be more exalted." Ha ! well, 
it was exceeding pleafant, by St. Thomas ! Exit» 

SamJ. Well, Barbara, and how fares father ? 


A p L A y. 


Barb. He has done nou2;ht but chide, fince von 
difappear'd, Samfon. It has four'd him with usi 

Samf. Well, I will call, foon, and fet all even. 

Barb. Will you, brother ? 

Samf. I will. Bid him not be caft down. I 
will protedl the Rawbold family. 

Barb, Truly, brother, we are much in need of 

Samf. Do not fear. Lean upon my power. I 
am head of all the male domeflicks, at madam 

Barb. O, the father I of all ! and how many be 
there, brother ^ 

Samf. Why, truly, not fo many as there be at 
the Lodge, here. But I have a boy under me, to 
chop wood, and draw water. 

Barb. The money we had from Sir Fdward's 
bounty, is nearly gone in payment of the debt our 
father ovv'ed. You know he had fhortly been im- 
prifon'd, elfe. 

Samf. My (lock is fomewhat low, too. — But, 
no matter. Keep a good heart. J am now a 
rifing man. I will make you all comfortable. 

Barb. Heaven blefs you Samfon ! 

Samf. In three months, 1 look for a quarter's 
wages i and then Dick (hall have a Ihirt. I mull 
now take you roundlv to taH^:. 

Barb. Mc, brother ! 

N 2 Snmf. 


Samf. Aye, marry. You would throw your- 
felf away on this Wilford — who, as the ftory goes, 
is licde better than the devil's own imp. 

Bari^, O, brother ! be not fo uncharitable. I 
know not what is againft hiin, but he has not been 
heard yet. Confider too — were all our aftions, 
at home, to be fifted, I fear me, we might not 
cfcape blamelefs. 

Sam/, Aye, but he, it feems, is falling, and we 
are upon the rife ; and that makes all the differ- 
ence. Mafs ! how gingerly men will fift the faults 
of thofe who are getting up hill in the world -, and 
what a rough fhake they give thofe who are going 
downward ! 

Barl^. I would not be one of thofe fifters, bro- 

Sam/. No, — I warrant, now, thou wouldft 
marry this vagabond. 

Barlf. That I would, brother. He has cheer'd 
me in my diftrefs, and I would fooner die than 
leave him, now he is unfortunate. 

Sam/. Haft thou no refpeft for the family ? 
Thou wilt bring cndlefs difgrace on the name of 
Rawbold. Shame on you ! to take away from our 
reputation, when we have fo little ! 

Bar^. I thought, brother, you would have fhewn 
more pity for your poor fiftcr,, 

Sam/ Tu(h ! Love's a mere vapour. 

Barip. Ah ! brother. 


A P L A Y. ^ 


Samson and Barbara. 



From break of the morning, were I with my love, 
I'd talk till the evening drew nigh ; 
And, when the day did clofe, 
I'd ling him to repofe. 
And tune my love a lullaby, 


From break of the morning, were I with my love, 
O ! long e'er the evening drew nigh. 
Her talk would make medofe, 
Till the mufickof my nofc 
Would play my love a lullaby. 


Our children around us, I'd look on my love. 
Each moment in rapture would fly. 

But love is apt to pall. 
When the brats begin to fquall. 
And a wife is fcreaming luUaby. 

£.Qth, From break of the morning, &». 



' SCENE II. J Ream in Sir Philip Mortimer 'j 

Mortimer and PI e l e n difcovered. 

TId. Sooth, you look better now ; indeed you do. 

Mcrt. Thou'rt a fwcet flatterer ! 

Hel. Ne'er trufl me, then. 
If] do flatter. This is vvilfulnefs. — 
Thou wilt be fick, becaufe thou wilt be fick. 
I'll laugh away this fancy, Mortimer. 

Mort, What couldft: thou do to laugh away my 
ficknefs ? 

Jlel. I'll mimick the phyfician — wife and dull — 
With cane at nofc, and nod cmphatical. 
Portentous in my filencej feel your pulfe. 
With an owl's face, that fkall exprefs as much 
As Galen's head, cut out in wood, and gilt, 
Stuck over an apothecary's door. 

Mort. And what wouldft thou prefcribe ? 

Hel. I would diltil 
Each flower that lavifli happinefs produced, 
Through the world's paradife, ere Difobediencc 
Scaticr'd the feeds of care; then mingle each, 
Jn one huge cup of comfort for thee, love. 
To chace away thy dulnefs. Thou fliouldft wanton 
Upon the wings of Time, and mork his flight. 
As he fail'd with thee tow'rd Eternity. 
I'd have each hour, each minute of thy life, 
A golden holiday ; and Hiould a cloud 



A P L A V. 9; 

O'ercaft thee, be it light as a goflamer, 
That Helen might difperfe it with her breath. 
And talk thee into funihine ! 

Mort, Sweet, fweet Helen ! 
Death, foften'd with thy voice, nnight dull his fling. 
And fteep his darts in balfam. Oh 1 my Helen, 
Thefe warnings which that grifly monarch fends. 
Forerunners of his certain vifitation. 
Of late are frequent with me. It fhould feem 
I was not meant to live long. 
HeU Mortimer ! 

My Mortimer ! You Oh ! for heaven's fake. 

Do not talk thus ! You chill me. You are v/ells 
Very well. — You give way — Oh, Mortimer 1 
BaaiHi thefe fantafies. Think on poor Helen ! 
Mcrt, Think on thee, Helen ? 
Hel. Aye: but not think thus. 
You faid, my Mortimer, my voice could foothe. 
In the mod trying ftruggle. 

Mort, Said I fo ? 
Yet, Helen, when my fancy paints a death- bed, 
I ever place thee foremoft in the fcene. 
To make the piilure touching. A.fter man 
Is fummon'd, and has made up his account. 
Oh ! 'tis a bitter after-reck'ning,"when 
His pallid lips receive the lad, fad kifs. 
Fond, female anguifh prints ! Then, Helen, then. 
Then comes man's agony ! To leave the objed 
He fhelter'd in Iiis heart, grief-ftruck and hclplefs; 
To grafp her hand ; to fix his hollow eye 


y(y T H E ! R O N C H E S T 

Upon her face, and mark her mute defpair, 
'Till the laft flutter of his aching fpiric 
Hurries him hence, for ever ! 

Hel. Oh ! for pity 
What have I done, that you Q'urjls into tears, 

Mort. My Helen 1 

Hel. I did not mean to weep. Oh, Mortimer, 
I could not talk fo cruelly to you ! 
I would not pain you thus, for worlds ! 

Mott. Nay, come; 
I meant not this. I did not mean to fay 
There's danger now ; but 'tis the privilege 
Of ficknefs to be grave, and morahze 
On that which ficknefs brings. I prithee, now. 
Be comforted. Believe me, I fiiall mend. 
J feel I fiiall already. 

HeL Do you, Mortimer ? 
Do you, indeed, feel fo ? 

Mort. Indeed I do. 

Hel, I knew you would : — I faid it. Did I not ? 
I am fo glad ! You mud be cautious now. — 
I'll play the nurfe to-day — and then, to-morrow. 
You fhall not brood at home, as you are wont. 
But we v/ill ride together, through the foreft. 
You muft have exercife. Oh! I will make you 
Frefli as the fummer dew-drop, and as healthy 
As ruddy Labour, fpringing from his bed. 
To carol o'er the fallow ! 

Mort. Dearefl pratder ! 
Men would meet ficknefs with a fmiling welcome. 
Were all woo'd back to health thus prettily. 


A P L A Y. 97 

Hd. i fee it In your looks, now, you are better- 

Mort. Scarce pofTible, fo fuddenly ! 

Hel. O, yesj 
There is no little movement of your face 
But I can mark on the inflant — *Tis my fludy* 
I have fo gaz'd upon it, that, I think, 
I can interpret ev'ry turn it has. 
And read your inmoft foul, 
• Mort, What? 

Hel. Mercy on me ! 
You change again. 

Mort. 'Twas nothing. Do not fearj 
Thefe little Hiocks are ufual. — 'Twill not laft. 

HeL Would you could Ihake them off! 

Mort. I would I could ! 

Hel. Refolve it, then ; and the bare refolution 
Will bring the remedy. Rally your fpirits j 
I prithee, now, endeavour. — This young man. 
This boy — this Wilford — he has been ungrateful j 
But do not let his bafenefs wear you thus. 
Ev'n let him go. 

Mort. I'll hunt him through the world! 

HeL Why, look you there now ! Pray be calm, 

Mort. Well, well ; 
1 am too boiflerous : 'Tis my unhappinefs 
To feem mod harili where I would iliew mofl kind. 
The world has made me peevifh. — This fame boy 
Has fomewhat moved me. 

HeL He's beneath your care. 
Seek him not now, to punifh him. Poor wretch ! 

O He 


He carries that away, within his breafl. 
Which will embitter all his life to come. 
And make him curfe the knowledge on't, 

Mort. The knowledge ! 
Has he then breathed Carries within his 

breaft 1 
What does he know ? 

Hel. His own ingratitude, 

Mort. O, very true, 

Hel. Then leave him to his Confcienc-e. 
It is a fcorpion, fent by Heaven itfelf. 
To fix on hidden crimes j a flow. Hill flream. 
Of moulten lead, kept dropping on the heart. 
To fcald and weigh it down. Believe me, love. 
There is no earthly punifliment fo great. 
To fcourge an evil ad, as man's own confcience. 
To tell him he is guilty. 

Mort, 'Tis a hell 1 
1 pray you talk no more on't. — I am weak — 
I did not flcep laft night. 

Hel. Would you fleep now ? 

Mort. No, Helen, no. I tire thy patient fweet- 

Hel. Tire me ! nay, that you do not. You 
How often I have fat by you, and watch'd. 
Fanning the bufy fummer-flies away. 
Left they ihould break your flumbers. Who comes 
here ? 


A P L A Y. ^9 

Enter Winterton. 

What, Winterton ! How do'ft thou, old acquain- 
tance ? 
How doft thou, Adam ? 

Wint. Blefs your goodnefs, well. 
Is my good mailer better ? 

Hel. Somewhat, Adam. 

IVint. Now, by our lady, I rejoice to hear it ! 
I have a meffage— — 

Hel. O, no bufinefs now ! 

IFint. Nay, fo 1 faid. Quoth I, his honour's 

fick ; 

Perilous fick ! but the rogue prefs'd, and prcls'd j 
I could refufd no longer. Out upon them! 
The varices know old Winterton's good nature. 
'Tis my weak fide, 

Hel. Who has thus importuned you ? 

IFint, To fay the truth, a mod ill-favor'd varlet. 
But he will fpeak to none but to his Vv'orfhip. 
I think 'tis foreft bufinefs. 

Mort. O, not now : 
Another time — to morrow — when he will. 
I Jim unfit. — They teize me ! 

JVint. Ev'n as you pleafe, yQur worlhip. I 
fhould think. 
From what hedropt, he can give fome account 
Of the poor boy. 

Mort, Of Wilford ! 

O 2 I Fink 


rVint. Troth, I think fo. 
The knave is fhy j but Adam has a head. 

Mort. Quick ; fend him hither on the inllant ! 
Fly, Adam, fly ! 

Wint. Well now, it glads my heart 
To hear you fpeak fo brifkly. 

Mort, V/ell, defpatch ! 

VFint, I go. Heaven blefs you both ! Heaven 
fend you v/ell. 
And merry days may come again. \^Exit, 

HeL I fear, this bufinefs may diftrafl you, Mor- 
I vi^ould you would defer it till to-morrow. 

Mort, Not fo, fweet. Do not fear. I prithee 
1-et me have way in this. Retire awhile. 
Anon I'll come to thee. 

Eel. Pray now, be careful. 
1 dread thofe agitations. Pray, keep calm. 
Now do not tarry long. Adieu, my Mortimer ! 

Mort^ Farewel, awhile, fweet ! 

HeL Since it mull be fo— 
Farewel ! \_Exit Helen. 

Mort, Dear, fimple innocence ! thy words of 
Pour oil upon my fires. Methought her eye. 
When firft Ihe fpake of confcience, fhot a glance 
Like her dead uncle on me. Well, for Wilford ! 
That flave can play the Parthian with my fame, 


A P L A Y. 101 

And wound it while he flies. Bring him before me. 
Place me the runagate within my gripe, 
And I will plant my honour on its bafe. 
Firmer than adamant, tho' hell and death 
Should moat the work with blood ! Oh, how 

will fin 
Engender fin 1 Throw guilt upon the foul. 
And, like a rock dafh'd on the troubled lake, 
'Twill form its circles, round fucceeding rounds 
Each wider than the— — 

Enter Orson. 

How now ! What's your bufinefs ? 

OrJ. Part with your office in the foreft : pait 
Concerns yourfelf in private, 

Mort. How myfelf ? 

Or/. Touching a fervant of your houfe; a lad. 
Whole heels, I find, were nimbler than hijj duty. 

Mcrt. Speak; what of him ? Quick — Know 
you where he is ? 
Canft bring m.e to him 't 

OrJ. To the very fpot. , 

Mort. Do it. 

OrJ, Nay, foftly. 

Mort. I'll reward you — amply—- 
Enfure your fortunes. 

OrJ. Fird enfure my neck. 
Twill do me little good elfe. I've no heirs -, 
And, when 1 die, 'tis like the law will bury me. 
At its own chvgt\ 


102 T H E 1 R O N C H E S T; 

MorL Be brief, and to your pnrpofe. 

Or/, Then, to the bufinefs which concerns your 
Here, in the forefl. 

Morf. Nay, of that anon, 
pirft of my fervant. 

Or/. Well, ev'n as you pleafe. 
'Tis no rare thing — Let public duty wait. 
Till private interefts are fettled. But 
My ftory is a chain. Take all together, 
*Twill not unlink. 

Mori, Be quick, then. While we talk, 
This (lave efcapes me. 

Or/. Little fear of that. 
He's in no plight to journey far to-day. 

Morf. Where is he hid ? 

Or/. Hard by ; with robbers. 

Mort. Robbers ! 

Well,rm glad on't. 'Twill fuit my purpofe bed. 

—What, has he turn'd to plunder ? 

Or/. No J not fo. 
plunder has turn'd to him. He was knock'd down, 
Laft night, here in the foreft, flat and fprawling \ 
And the milk-hearted captain of our gang 
Has fhelter'd him. 

Mort, It feems, then, thou'rt a thief? 

Or/. I ferv'd in the profeflion : But, lad night. 
The fcurvy rogues caihier'd me. 'Twas a plot. 
To ruin a poor fellow in his calhng. 


A P L A Y. io5 

And take away my means of getting bread. 

I come here, in revenge. I'll hang my comradesii 

!n cluflerSj on the foreft oaks, like acorns. 

Mort. Where lies their haunt ? 

Orf. Give me your honour, firfl ■ ■ « 

Mort. I pledge it, for your fafety. 

Orf. Send your officers 
To the old abbey ruins ; you will find 
As bold a gang as e'er infeiled woods. 
And fatten'd upon pillage. 

Mert, What, fo near me ! 
In fome few minutes, then, he's mine ! Ho ! 

Winterton ! 
Nov/ for his lurking place ! Hope dawns again. 
Remain you here; I may have work for you. 

(/o Orf on, 
O ! I will weave a web fo intricate. 
For this bafe infeft ! fo entangle him !i-«-— • 
Why, Winterton ! Thou jewd, reputation ! 
Let me fecure thee, bright and fpotlefs, now ; 
And this weak, care-worn body's diffolution. 
Will cheaply pay the purchafe ! Winterton ! 

Orf There may be danger in my ftay here. I 
will e'en flink off", in the confufion I have rais'd. 
I value not the reward. I hang my comrades, and 
that fiiall content me, (Exit. 

A Hall, 

1C4 T H E I R O N C I-I E S T, 

A Hall in the Lodge, 


Enter Fitzharding. 
Fitz, Rare fcuttling towr'd ! This lodge is lit- 
tle Babel : 
And Spleen and Sicknefs are the hoiifehold gods^ 
In this, my brother's, caftle of confiifion. 
The hue and cry is up ! I am half tempted 
To wirn the game too nimble for the dogs. 
That hunt him at the heels, Diihonefl ! Well, 
I'll ne'er truft looks again. His face hangs out 
A goodly fign i but all within, it feems, 
Is dirty rooms, ftale eggs, prick'd wine, four becrj 
Rank bacon, mufty beef, and tallow candles. 
I'll be deceived no more. — I'll mix with none, 
Jn future, but the ugly : honelt men. 
Who can out-grin aGrifRn -, or the head 
Carved on the prow of the good fliip the Gorgon, 
I'm for carbuncled, weather-beaten faces. 
That frighten little children, and might ferve 
For knockers to hall gates. — Now — who are you? 

Enter Samson. 

SawJ. Head fervingman to madam Helen, Sir. 
Fitz. Well, I may talk to thee ; for thou doft 
To the defcription of the fort of men 
I have refolved to live with. 

SamJ. I am proud. Sir, 
To find I have your countenance. 


A P L A Y. 10^ 

F'ltz. Can'ft tell me 
The news of Wilford ? 

Samf. He is turn'd a rogue, Sir. 
An errant knave. Sir. 'Tis a rare thing, now. 
To find an honeft fervant : — ^\Ve are fcarce. 

Fitz. Where lies the Abbey where they go to 
feek him ? 
Doftknow it ? 

Sam/. Marry, do I ; in the dark. 
I have flood near it, many a time, in winter. 
To watch the hares, by moonlight. 

Fitz. A cold paftime ! 

Samf. Aye, Sirj 'twas killing work. I've left 
it off. 

Fitz. Think you they will be back foon ? 

Samf. On the inftant : 
It is hard by. Sir. — Hark I hear their horfes ! 
They are return'd, I warrant. 

Fitz. Run you, fellow. 
If Wilford's taken, fend him here to me. 

Samf. Why he's a rogue, Sir. Would your 
worfbip (loop 
To parley with a rogue k. 

Fitz, Friend, I will ftoop 
To prop a finking man, that's call'd a rogue, 
And count him innocent, 'till he's found guilty. 
I learn'd it from our Enghfh laws ; where Mercy 
Models the weights that fill the fcales of Juftice i 
Arvd Charity, when Wifdom gives her fentence. 
Stands by to prompt her. 'Till deteiftion comes, 

P I fide 


I fide with the accufed. 

SamJ, Would I had known 
Your worfhip Iboner. YouVc a friend, indeed ! 
All undifcover'd rogues are bound to pray for 

you : 
—So, Heaven blefs you ! 

Fitz. Well, well— buftle; ftir ; 

Po as 1 bid thee. 

SamJ. Aye Sir.-^I Ihall lean 
Upon your worfhip in any time of need.— 
Heaven reward you ! Here's a friend to make ! 

Fitz. I have a kind of movement, ftill, for 
I cannot conquer. What can be this charge 
Sir Edward brings againft him ? — Should the boy 
Prove guilty !^-well i why fhould I pity guilt ? 
Philofophers would call me driv'ler. — Let them. 
Whip a deferter, and philofophy 
Stands by, and fays he merits it. That's true :— 
But wherefore fhould philofophy take fnufF, 
When the poor culprit writhes? A plague on 

floicks ! 
I cannot hoop my heart about with iron, 
Like an old beer-butt. I would have the veffel 
What fome call weak : — I'd have it ooze a little. 
Better compafTion fhould be fet abroach, 
'Till it run wafle, then let a fyftem-mongcr 
Bung it with Logick ; or a trencher cap 
Pawl put his ethics on it, 'till his thunder 


A P L A Y. 107 

Turns all the liquor four. — So ! Here he comes 1 
Enter Wilford. 

H^ilf, I am inform'd it is your pleafure. Sir, 
To fpeak with me. 

Fitz, Aye, Wilford. I am forry— - 
Faith, very forry, — you and I meet thus. 
How could you quit my brother thus abruptly ? 
Was he unkind to you ? 

fVilf. Mod bountiful. 
He made me all I am. The poor can number 
His virtues thick as (lars. I owe him. Sir, 
A world of gratitude. 

Fitz. *Tis a new mode 
Of payment you have taken. Wherefore fly ? 

JVilf, I was unfit to ferve him. Sir. 

Fitz. Unfit ! 

Wilf. I was unhappy, Sir. I fled a houfc 

Where certain mifery awaited me. 

While I was doom'd to dwell in't« 
Fitz. Mifery ! 

What was this certain mifery ? 

IVilf, Your pardonj— J 

I never will divulge. 

Fitz. Indeed ! 

JVilf. No, never. 
Pray do notprefs me. All that I can fay 
Is, that I have a ftrong, and rooted reafoHi 
Which has refolved me. *Twere impolTible 
I Hiould be tranquil here. I feel it. Sir, 
A duty to myfelf to quit this roof, j 

P 2 Fitz, 



Fitz. Harkye, young man. This fmacks of 
myftcry -, 
j^nd now looks foully. Truth, and Innocence, 
Walk round the world in native nakednefs. 
But Guilt is cloak'd. 

Wilf. Whate'er the prejudice 
My condu6l conjures up, I muft fubmit. 

Fitz. 'Twere better now you conjured up your 
friends : 

For I muft tell you No, there is no need. 

Youlearn'd it, doubtlefs, on the way, and know 
The danger you, now, ftand in. 

Wilf. Danger, Sir! 
What? How ? I have learn'd nothing. Sir; my 

Drag'd me in filence hither. ■ 

Fttz. Then 'tis fit 
I put you on your guard. It grieves me, Wilfordj, 
To fay there is a heavy charge againft you. 
Which, as I gather, may affeft your Jife. 

Wilf. Mine!— O, good Heaven ! 

Fitz, Pray be calm : — for, foon. 
Here, in the face of all his family. 
My brother will accufe you. 

Wilf He!— Whal-, He! 
He accufe me ! O monftrous ! O, look down 

You who can read mens hearts !- A charge 

againft me \ 
Ha, ha ! I'm innocent ! I'm innocent ! (^much 
, agitated) 


A PLAY. 109 

Fitz, Colled your firmnefs. You will need it 

Wilf. I fhal!, indeed! I pray you tell me. Sir, 
What is the charge ? 

Fitz. I do not know it's purport. 
I would not hear on't : for on nny voice refts 

The iflue of this bufinefss — and a judge 
Should come unbiafs'd to his office. Wilford, 
Were twenty brothers waiting my award. 
You Ihould have even, and impartial juftice. 
^ilf. O, you are juft ! 1 would all men were fo I 
Fiiz, I hope moft men are fo. Rally your 
When you are call'd upon ! if truth will fervc 

Sketch out your ftory with her chafte, bold pencil : 
If truth Ihould fail you, Wilford, even take 
The faired colours human art can mix. 
To give a glow to plaufibility. 
*Tis felf-defence 4 and 'tis allow'd, when man 
Muft battle it, with all the world againft him. 
—-—Heaven blefs you, boy !— ^that is, I mean — 

pihaw ! plague ! 
— Farewell 1 and may you profper ! Exit. 

fVilf. Then, all my youthful hopes are blighted 
in the bud ! The breath of my powerful perfecu- 
tor will wither them. Let me recall my adioos. 
— My breaft is unclog'd with crime. This charge 
is to be open; — in the eye of the world; of the 
laws. — Then, why Ihould I fear ? I am native 



of a happy foil where juflice guards equally the 
life of its pooreft and richeft inhabitant. Let 
him inflict his menaces upon me, in fecret ; Let 
him torture my mind and body j he Ihall not, 
cannot, touch my good name. 

Enter Barbara. 

Bar^, O, Wilford ! (falls on his neck) 

PFilf. Barbara ! at fuch a time, too ! 

Barlf. To be brought back, thus, Wilford! 
and to go away without feeing me ! without think- 
ing of me ! 

fFilf. It was not fo. — I was haftening to your 
cottage, Barbara, when a ruffian, in the foreft, 
encounter'd and wounded mc. 

Barb. Wounded you \ 

Wilf. Be not alarm'd. *Tis not, as I thought 
yefternight, of moment. One of his party took 
me to the Abbey ruins, and gave me timely fuc- 

Barb. Ar^, was it fo! was it indeed fo, Wil- 
ford ? 

JVilf. Aye, Barbara. When I was drag'd hi- 
ther, the whole troop efcaped, or they had vouch'd 
for the truth on't. 

Barb, I would they not had efcaped. For all 
here fay that you had fled to join them. 

IVUf. What ! join with robbers ! what next 
Ihall I be charged with ! 

Barb. Bethink you, Wilford — the time is Jhort: 

1 know your heart is good i but' 



Wilf. But what? Can you fufpeft it, too, 
Barbara ! 

Barb. O* mine is fo link'd with it, that I 
would follow you through beggary, through pri- 
fons, Wilford. 

IVilf. Prifons ! The found, now, makes mc 
(hudder ! 

Barb. If in a hafty moment you have done 
ought to wrong Sir Edward, throw yourfelf on his 
mercy j — fue for pardon. 

JVilf, For pardon ! — I (hall go mad ! Pardon ! 
I am innocent. — Heaven knows I am innocent. 

Barb. Heaven be thank'd ! — The family is all 
fummon'd. O, Wilford I my fpirits fink within 

Wilf, {afidi) I am, now, but a forry com- 
forter. — Come, Barbara; be tranquil. You fee 
I am fo. Pont dont you, Barbara ? (agitated) 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. You muft attend in the next room. 

Wilf. What, Walter, is it you t Pray tell me 

Serv. Do not queilion me. I hold no dif- 
courfe with any of your ftamp. 

Wilf. Your tone is ftrangely changed on the 
fudden. What have I done ? 

Serv. You are going to be tried. That's enough 
fpr me. 



JVilf. I might rather claim your pity on that 
fcore, Walter. 

Serv. What, pity a man that's going to be tri- 
ed ? O, monftrous ! 

TVilf, Well, fare you well. I will not upbraid 
you, Walter. You have many in the world to 
countenance you. Blacken well your neighbour, 
and nine in ten ape in haftc to cry fhame upon him, 
ere he has time, or opportunity, to wipe off the ac- 
cufation. I follow you. 

Serv» Do fo. Exit. 

Barb. O, Wilford ! 

TVilf. Be of good cheer. I go arm'd in honefly, 
Barbara. I can bear every thing. Every thing, 
fave making you the partner of my misfortunes. 

That Barbara 1 am fure you love me 

That would give me a pang which would 

Farewell ! Exit, 

Barb. Alas ! I tremble for his fafety ! fhould 
they teai him from me ! 

SON G. — Barbara. 

DOWN by the river there grows a green willow ; 

Sing all for my true love ! my true love, O ! 
I'll weep out the night there, the bank for my pillow; 

And all for my true love, my true love, O ! 
When bleak blows the wind, and tempefts are beating, 
I'll count all the clouds, as I mark them retreating, 
For true lovers joys, well a-day ! are as fleeting. 
Sing, O for my {rue love, &c. 

i What 


Maids come, in pity, when I am departed ; 

Sing all for my true love, &c. 
When dead, on the bank, I am found broken-hearted. 

And all for my true lovCj &c. 
Make me a grave, all while the wind's blowing, 
Clofe to the dream, where my tears once were flowing. 
And over my corfe keep the green willow growing. 

'Tis all for my true love, &c. 

An A-partment in the Lodge. 

Fitz-Hardinc, Wilford, and various domejiickst 
dijcovered. — To them enter Adam Winter ton. 

FitT.. Is not Sir Edward coming, Adam ? 

Wint. Aye, Sir. — 
But he is grievous ill. — Since Wilford came. 
He had another fit. — But he'll be here. 
Ah, boy ! that I fhould live to fee this day ! 
I have a merry heart no longer, now. 

Wilf. Good man ! you have been ever kind to 

Wint^ Heav'n fend you may prove honeil ! 
PTeav'n fend it ! 
— Here comes Sir Edward. Would that I had died 
Two reigns ago ! 

Enter Sir Edward Mortimer. 
Fitz. Now, brother. — You look pale. 
And faint with ficknefs. 

Q^ Wint, 


IVint. Here's a chair your worfhip. 

Mo7't. No matter. — To our bufinefs, brother. 
You may well guefs the ftruggle I endure 
To place you here the mark of accufation. 
I gave you ample warning : Caution'd you. 
When many might have fcourged : and, even now. 
While I {land here to crufh you, — aye, to crufW 

My heart bleeds drops of pity for your youth, 
Whofe raflinefs plucks the red dellru6lion down» 
And pulls the bolt upon you. 

PFilf. You know beft 
The movements of your heart, fir. Man is blind. 
And cannot read them : but there is a Judge, 
To vvhofe all-feeing eye our inmoft 'thoughts 
Lye open. Think to him you, now, appeal.-— 
Omnifcience keeps heaven's regifter ; 
And, foon or late, when Time unfolds the book. 
Our trembling fouls mult anfwer to the record. 
And meet their due reward or punifliment. 

Fitz. Now, to the point, I pray you. 

Mort, Thus it is, then. 
I do fufpcft — By heaven the flory lingers. 
Like poifon, on my tongue, — but he will force it — 

Fitz. What is it you fufped? 

Mart. That he has rob'd me. 

IVilf. Rob'd! I! O, horrible! 

Fitz. Not yet — not yet. ' 
Pray tell me brother— I will be impartial ; — 


A P L A Y. 115 

But I am fomewhat moved. — Pray tell me, brother, 
How ground you this fufpicion ! 

Mort. Briefly, thus. 

You m.ay have noticed, in my hbrary, 
A cheft (IVilford jlarts) — You fee he changes at 
the word. 

IVilf. And well I may ! (afide, 

Mort. Where I have told you, brother. 
The writings which concern our family, 
With jewels, cafh, and other articles, 
Of no mean value, were depofited. 

Fitz. You oftentimes have faid lb. 

Mort, Yellerday, 
Chance call'd me, fuddenly av/ay -, I left 
The key in't — but as fuddenly return'd ; 
And found this Vv'ilford, this young man, whofe 

Whofe orphan ftate, met pity in my houfe, 
'Till pity grew to friendfnlp, — him I found, 
Fix'd o'er the ched, upon his knees, intent, 
As, now, I tiiink, on plunder ; tinging theft 
Still blacker with ingratitude ; and rifling 
The eafy fool who flielter'd him. Confulion 
Shook his young joints, as he let fall the lid, 
And gave me back the key. 

Fifz. Did you not fearch 
Your papers on the infl:ant ? 

Mo; t. No : — for, firfl:, 
(Habit fo long had fiix'd my confidence) 
I deem'd it boyifli curiofity; — 
But told hmi this would m.eet my further queflion ; 
0^2 Aad 


And, at that moment, came a fervant in. 

To fay you were arrived. He muft have mark'd 

Our mix'd emotion. 

Fitz. Is that fervant here ? 

Servant. 'Twas I, Sir. 

Mort. Was it you ? Well, faw you ought 
To challenge your atceniion ? 

Serv. Sir, I did. 
Wilford was pale and trembling ; and our mafter 
Gave him a look as if 'twould pierce him through ; 
And cried, '* Remember." — Then he trembled 

And we both quitted him. 

Mort. When firfl we met. 
You found me fomewhat ruffled. 

Fttz. 'Tis mioft true. 

Mort, But fomewhat more when, afterwards, I 
Wilford converfing with you — like a fnake, 
Sun'd by your looks, and balking in your favour. 
I bade him quit the room, with indignation. 
And wait my coming in the library. 

Fitz. I witnefs'd that, with wonder. 

Mort. O, good brother ! 

You little thought, while you (o gently fchool'd me. 

In the full flow of your benevolence. 

For my harfh bearing tow'rd him, on what ground 

That harfh nefs refted. I had made my fearch. 

In the brief interval of abfence from you. 

And found my property had vanifh'd. 

Fitz. Well 


A P L A Y. , , ? 

You met him in the library ? 

Mori. O never 
Can he forget than folemn interview ! 

Wilf. Aye, fpeak to that: — it was a folemn in- 

Mort. Obferve, he does acknowledge that: we met. 
Guilt was my theme: — he cannot, now deny ir. 

JVilf* It v/as a rh-eme of — No. (checking himfelf. 

Mort. He pleaded innocence: 
While every word he fpake belied his features. 
And mock'd his proteflation. I reftrain'd 
The chaftifement he fear'd ; nor wou'd I blazon 
The wrong I could not fi.^j and fubje(fl, ihus. 
By general inquiry, all the guiltlefs 
To foul fufpicion. That fufpicion lay 
Mod heavily on him ; but the big cloud 
Of anger he had gathered burll not on him, 
In vengeance to o'erwhelm him : chill it drop'd. 
But kindly, as the dew, in admonition; 
Like tears of fathers o'er a wayward child. 
When love enforces them to ruggednefi. 

Filz. What laid you to him ? 

Mort. " Regulate your life, 
** In future, better. I, no>v, fpare your youth; 
" But dare not to proceed. All I exact, 
" ('Tis a foft penance) — that you tarry iiere ; 
'' My eye your guard, my houfe your gentle prifon, 
*' My bounty be your cliains. Attcn^ipt not llighL i 
'"^ Flight ripens all my doubt to certainty, 
*' And juilice to the world unlocks my tongue."— 



He fled, and I arraign him. 

Fitz. Truft mCj brother, 
This charge is daggering. Yet accidents 
Sometimes combine to raPc a fliade of donbt 
Upon the innocent. May it be fo here ! 
Here is his trunk : 'twas brought here at my order, 
'Tis fit that it be fearch'd. 

Mcrt. Oj that were needlefs. 
He were a fli allow villain that would trull 
His freight of plunder to fo frail a bottom. 
School-boysj who ilrip the orchard of its fruit. 
Conceal their thievery better. 

Fitz. Yet 'tis found. 
Such negligence is often link'd with guilt. 
— Take note — I fay not yet that he is guilty. 
But I fcarce heard of crafty villain, yet. 
Who did not make fome blot in his foul game. 
That lookers-on have thought him blind, and mad. 
It was fo palpable. — 'Tis rarely otherwife : 
Heaven's hand is in it, brother: Providence 

Marks guilt, as 'twere, with a fatuity. 

Adam, do you infped: it. ' (/<? WintertQn. 

Wilf. Here's the key — 
E'en take it, freely. — You'll find little there 
I value i fave a locket, which my mother 
Gave me upon her death-bed ; and fhe added 
Her blcfiing to't. Perhaps, her fpirit now 
Is grieving for my injuries. 

Wini. {after opening the triir.k). O, mercy 1 

Fitz. How now ? What's there r 


A PLAY. 119 

lyint. As I'm a wretched man. 
The very watch my good old mafter wore ! 
And, here, my lady's jewels ! 

Wilf. I am innocent. 
Juft Heaven hear me 1 

Fuz. I mud hear you, now. 
What can you fay ? — Oh ! Wilford. 

JVilf. Give me breath. 
Let me collcfl my fi If, Firft this, {falls on his knees) 

May fleep 
Ne'er clofe my burning eyes j may confcience 

gnaw me j 
May engines wrench my entrails from their feat ; 
And whirl them to the winds before my face. 
If I know aught of this ! 

Fitz. Make it appear fo. — But look there ; look 
there ! (^pointing to the trunk, 

Wilf. Heap circumftance upon me j multiply 
Charge upon charge ; pile feeming fa6l on faft j 
Still I maintain my innocence. Look at me ! 
Are thefc the throes of guilt? Are thefe con- 

Of a poor, helplefs, friendlefs, wretched boy. 
The ftruggles of a villain ? — One thing more: 
I here aver it — to his face aver it — 
He knows — Yes, he — Yes, my accufer knows, 
I merit not his charge. 

{a general exprejjion of indignation) 
Wint. O ! fie on't, fie ! 

Fitz, Wilford, take heed ! A bafe attempt to 


T:a T H E I R O N C H E S T; 

An iijiired mailer, will but plunge you deeper. 

JVilf. I know what I am doing. I repeat it : 
Will die repeating it. Sir Edward Mortimer 
Is conrcious of my innocence. 

Mort. Proceed 

Look at thefe proofs, and talk. — Unhappy boy;> 
1 hy tongue can do me little mifchief now. 

JVilf. Do yon not know 

Mort. What ? 

fVilf. 'Tis no matter, fir. 

But I could fwear— — — — 

Mort, Nay, Wilford, paule awhile. 
Refleft that oaths are facred. Weigh the force 
Of thefe afTeverations. Mark it well. 
I fwear hy all the ties that bind a man. 
Divine or human! Think on that, and Ihudder. 

Wilf. The very words I utter'd ! I am tongue- 
tied, {aftde. 

Fitz. Wilford, if there be aught that you can 
To clear yourfelf, advance it. 

mif. O, I could ! 
I could fay much, but muft not.— No, I will not. 
Do as you pleafe. — I have no friend — no witnefs. 
Save my accufer. Did he not — pray alk him — 
Did he not vaunt his wiles could ruin me ? 
Did he not menace, in his pride of power, 
To blalt my name, and crufh my innocence ? 

Fifz. What do you anfwcr, Sir ? 

Mort. I anfwfr — No. — 


A P L A Y. 121 

More were fuperfluous, when a criminal 
Oppofes empty volubility 
To circumflantial charge. A ftediaft brow 
Repels not fa6t, nor can invalidate 
Thefe dumb, but damning, witnefTes, before him. 

(pointing to the trunk.) 

Wilf. By the juft Pow'r that rules us, I am 
How they came there ! — but 'tis my firm belief^ 
You placed them there, to fink me. 

Fitz. O, too much ! 
You fteel mens' hearts againft: you 1 Death and 

fhame ! 
It roufes honeft choler. Call the officers. — 
He fhall meet punifhment. (Servants going.) 

Mort, Hold ! pray you, hold. 
Juftice has, thus far, ftruggled with my pity. 
To do an a6l of duty to the world. 
I would unmafk a hypocrite -, lay bare 
The front of guilt, that men may fee and fhun it: 
jTis done — And I will, now, proceed no further. 
I would not hurt the ferpent, but to make 
1 he ferpent hurtlefs. He has loft his fling. 
Let him depart, and freely. 

Fitz. Lookye, brother. 
This fhall not be. — Had he proved innocent. 
My friendfliip had been doubled j you well know 
I have been partial to him-— but this ad 
Ifi fo begrimed with black, ungrateful malice. 
That I infifl on juftice. Fly, knaves ! run, 

R And 


And let him be fecured. \^Exeunf/ervants.'] You 
tarry here. {to Wilford^) 

Mort. I will not have it thus. 

Fitz. You muft — You fhall — 
'Tis weak elfe. Oons ! I truft I have as much 
Of good, (Iraight-forward pity, as may ferve ; 
But, to turn dove — to fit Hill, and be peck'd at, 
Jt is too tame. His infolence tops all ! 
Does not this roufe you, too ? — Look on thefe 

Look at this pidure. — 'Twas our mother's : Stay, 
Let me infped: this nearer. What are here ? 
■Parchments (infpe^fing the trunk.) 

Mort. O, look no further^ — They are deeds. 
Which, in his hafte, no doubt he crowded there. 
Not knowing what — to look o'er at his Icifurc— 
Family deeds — They all were in my cheft. 

JVilf, O, 'tis deep laid ! — Thefe, toOj to give a 
colour ! (aftde,) 

Fitz, What have we here ? I have your leave, 
good brother. 
As arbiter in this. Here is a paper 
Of curious enfolding — dipt, as 'twere 
By chance, within another. This may be 
Of note upon his trial. What's this drops ? 

A knife, it feems ! 

Mort, What ! (ftarting,) 

Fitz, Marks of blood upon it. 

Mm, Touch it not. Throw k back J — bury 
it'^fink it ! 


A PLAY. ,J3 

©Ji, careleHnefs and hafle ! Give me that paper. 
Darknefs and helli—Give back the paper. 

[Mortimer attempts U /natch it; Wilford 
runs between the two brothers, fails on his knees^ 
and prevents him, holding Fitzharding. J 
mif. {rapidly) No. 
1 fee— I fee !— Preferve it. You are judge !— . 
My innocence, my life, refts on it ! 

Mort, Devils 
Foil me at mv own game !— Fate !— Ha, ha, ha ! 
Sport, Lucifer ! He llruck me L 

[Mortimer is fainting, and falling iWiiTORn 
runs and catches him,] 
Wilf I'll fupport him. . 
Read! read! read! 

Fit%. What is this ?~My mind mifgives mel 
Ix. is my brother's hand X—^o die before mel 

What can this mean ?- {reads.l 

Narrative of jny murder of Oh, great Heav'n ! 

*' If by fome chance my guilt fhould be difcIo»'d, 
« May this contribute to reedeem the wreck 
*' Of my loft honour !"— I am horror-ftruck ' 

mif Plain, plain ! Stay ! he revives, 

Mort. What has been- foft i 

I have been wandVing with the damn'd, fure,-^ 
Brother ! — 

And-aye-'tis Wilford ! Oh ! thought fialhes 
On me 

Like Lightning. I am brain-fcorch'd. Give mc 

I will fpeak—Soon I will— a little yet- . 

^ ^ Come 


Come hither, boy. — Wrong'd boy ! O Wilford, 
Wilford ! 
{hurjls into tears y and falls on Wilford' s neck.) 

Wilf. Be firm. Sir j pray be firm ! my heart 
bleeds for you — 
Warms for you ! Oh ! all your former charity 
To your poor boy, is in my mind. — Still, ftill, 
I fee my benefadtor ! 

Mort. Well, I will— 
I will be firm. One ftruggle, and 'tis over: 
I have moft foully wrong'd you ! Ere I die — 
And I feel death-ftruck — let me hafte to make 
Atonement. — Brother, note. The jewels. 
Yes, and that paper — Heaven and accident 
Ordain'd it fo! — were placed — Curfe on my flefii. 
To tremble thus ! — were placed there by my hand. 

Fitz. O, mercy on me ! 

yicrt. More. I fear'd this boy 5 
He knew my fecret j and I blacken'd him. 
That, fiiould he e'er divulge the fatal ftory. 
His word might meet no credit. Infamy 
W ill brand my mem'ry for*t : Pofterity, 
Whofc breath I made my god, will keep my fhame 
Green in her damning record. Oh ! I had— 
I had a heart o'erflowing with good thoughts 
For all mankind ! One fatal, fatal turn. 
Has poifon'd all ! Where is my honour, now ? 
To die ! — To have my afiies trampled on. 
By the proud foot of fcorn ! Polluted ! Hell— 
Who dares to mock m,y guilt ? Is't you — or you ? 


A P L A Y. 12^ 

—Wrack me that grinning fiend ! Damnation ! 
Who fpits upon my grave ? I'll Itab again — 

I'll Oh! (falls.) 

Fitz: This rives my heart in twain; Why, 
brother, brother ! 
His looks are ghaftly. 

Enter Servant, 

Serv. Sir, the officers." 

Fitz. Away, knave ! Send them hence — the 
boy is innocent. 

Serv. What, Wilford ? 

Fitz. Aye. Tell it your fellows; Hence ! — 
You fhall know more anon. Send in fome help — 
Your mafter's ill o' the fudden. Send fome help ! 

{JExit Serv.) 

Wilf. 'Twere beft to raife him, Sir. 

Fitz, Soft, who comes here ? 

Enter Helen; 

Flel. Where is he ? Ill ! and on the ground 1 
Oh, Mortimer ! 
Oh, Heaven ! my Mortimer. O, raife him.-— 

Speak to me, love. He cannot ! 
Uort, Helen — 'Twas I that— 
(hejiruggles toj-peak, but appears unable to utter.) 
UeL Oh, he's convulfed ! 



Fitz. Say nothing. We mufl lead him to his 
Befeech you to fay nothing ! Come, good lady: 
(FiTZHARDiNG fl«^ Helen /^^z^Mortimer out.) 

Enter Barbara, on the oppfite fide: 

Barb. O, Wilford ! I have flown to you ! You 
are innocent. — The whole houfe'now has it, you 
are innocent. Thank Heaven ! Speak ; tell me— 
How — how was it, dear, dear Wilford ? 

IVilf, I cannot tell you now, Barbara. Another 
time : But it is fo. — I cannot fpeak now.— 

Barb. Nor I, fcarce, for joy ! See ! hither come 
your fellows, to greet you. I am fo happy ! 

Enter Servants, t^c, &'c, i^c. 

Servants. Joy ! Wilford. 

TVilf. Peace, peace, I pray you. Our mafler 
is taken ill : So ill, mv fellows, that I fear me he 
(lands in much danger. That you rejoice in my 
acquittal, I perceive, and thank you. Sir Edward's 
brother will explain further to you : I cannot. But 
believe this -.—Heaven, to whofe eye the dark move- 
ments of guilt are manifeft, will ever watch over, 
aridTuccour the innocent, in their extremity. Cla- 
mour not now your congratulations to me, I en- 
treat you : Rather, let the flow, ftill voice of gra- 
titude be lifted up to Providence, for that care flic 
ever bellows upon thofe deferving her protedion ! 


A P L A Y. 127 


WHERE Gratitude fhall breathe the note» • 

To white-robed Mercy's throne, 
Bid the mild ftrain on asther float, 

A Toft and dulcet tone. 

Sweet, fweet and clear the accents raife, 
"While mellow flutes ftiall fwell the fong of praifc. 
Melody! Melody! 
A foft and dulcet melody! 

Where fever droops his burning head ; 
Where fick men languifli on their bed ; 
Around let ev'ry accent be, 

Harmony! Harmony! 
A foft and dulcet harmony ! i 


A L M E Y D A 














Dear Madam, 

1 HE high admiration I ever felt for th» 
fuperior talents you have fo eminently 
difplayed in Almeyda, could alone have 
induced me to venture a fecond drama- 
tick produaion. To that admiration, a 
more intimate knowledge of you, has 
added an efleem; which is, I flatter my- 
felf, reciprocal. Not all the various 
charms you dignify the Drama with, 
can equal thofe of your fympathi^ing 
mind, and unafTuming manners. -^When 
thus united, they form a charader it 


Dedication v 

would be vanity to praife, tho' virtue 
to delight in. With true gratitude, 

I remain. 
Dear Madam, 

Your faithfully devoted 
Humble fervant, 

]vKt 3, 1796. 




i-T was with no lefs awe than deference Iventuredj in the 
prefent day, to bring a Tragedy before the Publick. How 
great, then, muft be my gratitude for the liberal acceptation 
it has met, and the tears with which it has been honoured. 
I muft have wanted tafte and feeling, not to have been 
animated, by the exquifite talents of Mrs. Siddons, into 
an exertion of fuch as I poffefs. That 1 have been the 
means of difplaying, in a new point of view, her various 
powers, is a moft flattering rccompence. 

The flory of Almeyda is wholly a fxdion ; and the 
incident which produces the cataflrophe the only one not 
my oWn. — The deep impreflion made on me, long fince, 
by a fimilar denouement y in an old play of James Shir- 
ley's, determined me to apply it. 

The Stage requires a compreffion and brevity, which 
ftldom improves a play to the reader: I have, therefore, 
printed Almeyda at length, marking by inverted commas 
the parts omitted in reprcfentation. 



X HE Mufes long through many a varying agCt 

With truth and JiHion mix'dt ha've graced thcjiage^ 

When lueeping Conftancy devoted Jfood, 

Or patriot Honour feaPd his faith <with bloody 

They bade the deep-toned lyre refponji've fi(yw , 

Sublimed the fuffering, and dlju/ed the -woe j 

jlpplauJing Greece the numbers lo'v'd to hear^ 

J.ndherjlern 'warriors gave the graceful tear. 

At length her venal train Corruption ledy 

And, luith the Virtues linked, the Mufes fed'. 

O'er Albion'' s happy land they paused aiuhile. 

And flsed the favouring infiuence of their fmilc. 

Her Henrys, Hotspurs, trod the martial fcent^ 

Aud fir^d to hertes vuhom they found but men. 

Bold ShaJSIESPEAR poured th' invigoratiigflrain. 

And Howe, and fvieeier Otsv AY , fiWdthe train. 

What if the modern bard no more afpire. 
To rival OrviXY'sf-jjeetnefs, SHAKESPLAR^Tfr.? ; 
What if no laurel meed his altar claim, 
His cen/er baafl no heav'n-enkindled flame. 
Yet f beneath the fmould' ring vapour f^inc 
But one faint glimmering of the fpark divim^ 
Ah ! gently fan the fiamc ! lefl fajhion's breath- 
O'er the pale promife fend the blijl of Jem h ; 


Nor let the 'wreath Thalia only ijuearp 
Herftfter mufe de/erves/o nuell to Jhare. 
*Tis her^s the generous feeling to impart ^ 
That tnejids the morals while it fills the hearts 
tier's are the energies that kejl inform, 
The fighs that animate^ and tears that 'warm, 
IVithin the tnagic funfhine of her eye. 
Truths Honour y Loyalty, andVahur lie; 
Jill the bold 'virtues that our fires approTjed, 
And all that Britons hoa/i, or Britons loved-i 
Then ""gainjl the charm no more your iofoms fleet. 
But vwn the manly privilege to feeU 
Folly, and Vice, may oft in fmiles appeetr. 
But hafhful Virtue 'veils her in a tear. 
The broad, loud laugh, the mirth-infplring jejl 
Humour's nv'tld frolic, and gay fancfs feajl, 
like brilliant bubbles fparkle o'er the mind. 
But burji, and leave no radiant gleam behind- 
IVh'ile the bright pencil of the tragic mufe. 
Her facred rainbow draws o'er chilling dews; 
^nd tho' to air the tranfient glories run, 
"They give the promi/e of a golden fun / 

>P,o,.oG^, ,„d Zpix.o«»vk were written by Mifs HARMrr'lTr' 



Ramirez., King of Ca/iilc Mr. AiCKlw. 

AWallab, Regent of Granada Mr. Pai,mer. 

A\oa'zOy fan of Ramire%. Mr. Kemble. 

Orafmyn, > of Abdallah,. and Gt- > j^^^ WroughToit. 

KzTtxtyCaptainoftheMooriJJi Guard Mr. C. Kemble. 
NouraiEn, ^s Lm-dofthe Council Mr. Caujlfield. 

Officerrij Guards, ^c, 

Almeyda, ^lem of Grandda Mrs. S iddons. 

Victoria, Prlncefs of Cafiile Mrs. PoWEt. 

Abra, fifier to Hamet, 'and attend- \ ^^-^^ He ARP. 
i7ig an the l^ieen J 

Scene — A Moorifh Caftle on a bold rock which over- 
bangs the Guadalquiver. 

Time from the dawning of one morning to the dxwning 
of the next. 


A L M E Y D A 



jI Hall in the Cajlle^ of Moorijh architeSiure, with whi-^ 
dows of painted glafs, in the recejfes of the arches low 
fofas are placed with cujhisns piled, on one ofthefe Vic- 
toria flumbers, while Ramirez walks in the Hall 
making notes in his tablets j bright fieecy clouds rife behind 
the painted glafs reprefenting the dawn of day. 


liEMOVE thofe lights—the day once more re- 

And nature fprings into renewed exiftence ! 
Collets the fragrance breathing o'er her bofom. 
And offers up the incenfe to the morn ! 
Slow o'er the mazes of the Guadalquiver 
Curl the fofc mifts, that quicken ev'ry odour. 

B All 


«— All animated beings gladly rife 
To their diurnal tafk.-— Man, only man. 
That froward fav'rite of indulgent heav'n. 
Drops from his weary eye the ungrateful tear, 
To blight the coming bleffing ! — dear Vi6loria ! 
Thy watching hath o'erpower'd thee ! — foft, my 

Juike this, be all thy {lumbers ! 


Have I flept ? 
I pray you pardon the unconfcious fault 
And blefs to me the morn, (half kneeling, 


May each to come 
Breathe only peace upon thee j and reftore 
Thofe rofes withering on the fhrine of friendlhip ! 


Alas ! my father, blefs too my Almeyda ! 

Thzt/oliiary fov'reign ! born to weep 

The greatnefs thoufands covet ! thro' the night, 

Sle^'plefs, and tearful, Ihe has ftill entreated 

That I would win you ever to retain her. 

A Moor in name alone, Granada's throne 

Charms not her heart — poflelT'd, and alienate. 


I cannot chufe but blame ev'n thee, my child. 
If thou haft fought to win her from her duty, 


A L ME YD A. 3 


Nay, rather blame the parents who refign'd her, 


Forbear thefe rafli conclufions — Monarchs ofc 
Mufl facrifice each feeling to their duty. 


Alas ! that aught fliould break the tie of nature 1 
The ductile heart, as reafon dawns, flill takes 
A fofc imprefTion of the neareft objed — 
Thus did Alnaeyda's — yet an infant hoftage. 
She wak'd to knowledge on a foe's kind bofom. 
Her lips firft falter'd our Caftilian tongue. 
And, with becoming gratitude ihe found 
In thofe who fondly tr.jin'd her upsto honor. 
Each dear, each facred tie, of love, and nature : 
Nor did flie mourn her fires, or brother's death. 
As Ihe does now to leave us. 


Nor have I, 
My daughter, ill-deferv'd this gen'rous fondnefs. 
Since with my children (he has fhar'd my heart, 
— No, tho' to death I hate the Moorifh race, 
Vindidiivc, and infatiate — tho* my fword 
Ev'n yet couid dame amid my country's foes 
"With energy unbroken, never knew I 
To view a tender babe with abhorrence. 

B 2 —Ah! 


—Ah ! fweet Almeyda ! in this very hall 
Thy viies, unconfcious of thy fate, aflaird 
A heart alive to nature and humanity 1 
When with the error of foft innocence 
Thy little arntis clung round thy father's foe. 


Was this the caftle, where Almanzor chofe 
To lodge his queen for fafety ? 


Ay and wife 
Had prov'd his choice, if Heav'n their arms had 

" — Thou feefl: — *tis folid as the rock that bears it; 
Its proud tow'rs fhadow our Caftilian plains, 
Tho* f^ver'd from them by the Guadalquiver. 
« — They fince have aw'd their owner. — For that day 
Heaven bleft the holy valour it infpir'd ! 
That memorable day gave to our arms. 
An hoft almoft unnumber'd, but by flain. 
— Flufh'd with our conqueft, we alfail'd this caflle. 
Which the intimidated queen threw open, 
And as an hoftage gave us up her daughter. 


Oh ! mother iU-deferving my Almeyda ! 


Erroneous youth ftill takes the firft imprefllon. 
Nor looks beyond the furface ! Be more wife j 



Lcarn to pierce through the veil of policy, 
Undazzled by its colours.— So thy friend 
Shall better meet the future. 


I attend. 
With reverence fo profound^ each other fenfe 
Is loft in hearing — 


Know the queen thy cenfure , 
Condemns unheard, fhould rather claim thy pity. 
Match'd to a monarch weak, vain, cold of heart. 
Yet reftlejs tho' inaEiive — her ihort life 
Pafs'd in difquiet^ from the hour that called her. 
Almanzor's crafty brother gain'd the pow'r. 
And in the king's name fheltcr'd every bafenefs. 
Two rifing princes fcorn'd their uncle's fway, 
Alas ! perhaps too boldly !— heav'n alone 
Can judge the malady that nipp'd their bloom. 
—Certain it is, Abdallah never offcr'd 
A due equiv'lent for our royal hoftage 
Until ihe heir'd Granada. 


Sweet Almeyda ! 
Is this the favage trufted with thy welfare ? 
---nou too, perhaps, art doom'd by his ambition. 


A L M E Y D A. 


Not fo my daughter. — Politicians ever 

Prefent a puppet to the public eye. 

While they, unfeen, delight to guide its motions. 

— Almeyda thus is needful to her uncle. 

Who hopes to find in her a weak, vain woman. 


Heav'n, for his punifliment, then formed an angel ! 
— Who, like Almeyda ever knew to blend "" 

Th* eccentric, noble wildnefs of the Moor, 
With ev'ry polilh'd grace of our Caftile ? 


She is too frank, incautious, and ungovern'd. 
More rude than cacaraifls her paffions rage. 


Yct^///like thofe, profufely pour upon us 
Rich oret for ever elfe beyond our reach I 


She mufl conceal thofe paffions to be great. 

Subdue them to be happy. In the mind 

All fov'reignty begins, and ends. — Who rules 

Impartially the frailties of his nature 

Rifes almoft beyond it, and extends. 

Far as his name is known, a willing empire. 



Teach thy fair friend, my child, this ufeful leflTon, 
And next thy brother— 


Ah ! alike he needs it! 
*--I dread the wild concuffion of his paflions. 
When he fliall learn you choofe the very hour. 
In which he bravely fights his country's battles. 
To yield the fair, who gives his life a value. 


I therefore choofe it. Well I know, his temper 

Is, like Almcyda's own, warm and ungovern'd. 

Misjudging boy ! to fix thy idle heart 

On her, forever placed beyond thy reach ! 

— Why faw I not, in childhood, this fond love. 

Which, like a blight, clings to my life's beil 

bloffom ? 
—Yet could my fon ere hope to wed Almeyda ? 


Alas, my father, when their love commenc'di 
Almeydd had two brothers ; and my mother 
Still fondly fancied, by this union, peace 
Might one day blefs the long coiitefling nations. 


Ronnn.Ic dream of y:urh, ai.d idle paffion ! 
What pow'r can recouCi*^ the crofa and crefcenc t. 




Frown not, my father, if I further add^ 
Esidear'd to chriftian laws, and chriftian manners, 
Almeyda were to both an eafy convert, 

RAMIREZ (Jlernly.) 

Vifloria, if thou would'ft atone thy fault 

In chcnfliing this weakriefs, join to foothe 

Thy brother's difappointment. — Tell Alonzo, 

My love for him — my juftice — nay, my prudence 

Conftrain me to refign his heart's fole objeft. 

—Knows he not hardly we maintain our ground 

Againft thefe treach'rous neighbours, and muftftill, 

Whate'er the facrifice, defend our country ? 

— ^No news from Murcia yet ? — Oh ! how I long 

To hear the iflfue of the impending battle ! 

— ^The rifing fun gleams on the Moorifh helms. 

And gives a trembling luftre to yon fields ! 

' — Th' appointed moment comes to fign the treaty. 

I fee Almeyda too, but dare not meet her ; 

Far be it from me to offend her feelings. 

Or facrifice my own — bid her adieu ! 

(Exit Ramirez. 

ALMEYDA (entering on the other fide. ) 
During this trying interval, Vi6toria, 
I had prepar'd myfelf to meet the King, 
And now with breathlefs fear impatient fought him. 



Ah, wherefore flies he then ? Still he relents not ? 
— Thou, or I greatly err, haft fued in vain — 
Haft fued a SovWeign might remain in bonds. 
And yield dominion for implicit duty 
— Well then I bow difdainful to my fate — 
Yet have a care, Ramirez, thy proud heart 
May one day feel the pang that pierces mine. 


What means my dear Almeyda ? 


Ah! Alonzo! 
^hou wilt not thus refign' — ^thou wilt not fcorn me, 
■—Amid the rage of arms — the din of battle 
Almeyda's fighs ftiall ft ill be heard, ftill felt. 
And counterad all policy — alas ! 
I there alike may err, and ev'n Alonzo 
May bid the eagle glory cliace the dove. 
And fee the victim flutter to the ground. 
— Alonzo leads the war, and quite forgets me I 


Gentle Almeyda — govern thefe wild tranfports. 
Which ever warp your judgment — 


Do not hope it— 
Nor venture to decide a lover's condud — 
Thy tranquil blood flows equal thro' thy veins. 
Like the clear riv'let thro' the graflTy vale, 

C While 

10 ^ ALMEYDA. 

While mine, impetuous as the bounding billows^ 
Swells to my heart; thence rap'idly returns 
And in the tumult fwallows up wreck'd reafon ! 
— Hadfl thou, like me, been bofom'd among 

And giv'n thy foul in recompence for love. 
Then found thyfelf torn from this happy home, 
To wafte a gaudy life in cold indifference. 
Like mine thy aching fenfe would fwell to anguifii. 
Like mine in tears would drown thee. 


Yet believe 
Alonzo's love unblcmilhed as his honor. 
And V2ii\itY praife than blame his fenfe of duty. 


Why wilt thou fhame my cheek ?— Alas ! Vifloiia^ 
Had I rememb'red minet ne'er had I fhed 
Thefe burning drops — ev'n at this awful hour 
When from the grave my anceftors demand me. 
To all the pride, and pow'r of purple empire. 
My heart flies back to hover near my love. 
And envies ev'ry flave, who daily fees him. 


This is alike erroneous — darling friend. 

With fteadier eye furvey the paft, and future— 

So fhall your mind exrradl repofe. from reafon. 


A L M E Y D A. u 


Away with reajon ! melancholy hermit ! 
"Who idle eyes the ftorm, then, vainly a(5tive, 
Colleifls, and treafures, ev'ry wreck of pafTion ! 
—I (hall have hopelefs years enough for reafon. 
And give this hour to love. — Oh ! fay Vifloria, 
— And yet I dread to hear — is the King fixed 
To ratify the peace ? 


He has no choice — 
The rights of nations and his country's welfare, 
Oblige him to reftore you. — 


Rather fay, 
He has no heart — nor feels for my affli6lion — 
—Ah ! if the rights of nations were his rule. 
Why did he fubjugate a Monarch's daughter? 
Why win her eafy heart by gracious treatment ? 
Until fecure of filent, anxious, duty. 
He gave the Moors a Queen — himfelf a flave.— 


Wherefore reproach my father with his virtues ? 
He conquer'd for his country — tiiat loved caufe 
Induc'd him firft to keep, and now to yield you, 
> — Rather admire th' impartiality 
Which ranked you with his children in his heart. 
C 2 — Perhaps 


—Perhaps ev*n deeper motives fway'd his conduct; 
— Perhaps he ftood between you and an uncle. 
Who views with jealous eyes your right of empire. 


Nay, now Ramirez fpeaks from prejudice. 
Whom Ihould I truft if not my father's brother ? 


In Heav'tti and your integrity ; but never 
Jn this vindictive, fubtle, favage Moor. 
' — Without he is as fpecious as the mountain, 
Whofe rich fertility delights each gazer. 
But, oh ! volcanos rage within! and gath'ring 
Each noifome vapour of the o'ercharg'd earth. 
Forth unfufpefted burfts the flaming deluge, 
Felt foon zs/een — ev'n to annihilation ! 


Alas ! and is it thus ? To fuch a wretch 

Muft I be render'd up, in ignorance. 

To learn the Jcienze of hypocrify — 

With worldly art to arrange each little fentence. 

And preconcert each acftion ? Never more 

Shall I enjoy the fweets of confidence. 

Or find in love a pleafure. — Never more 

Shall thy harmonious voice, Alonzo, charm mc j 

Or thine, dear rigid friend, reproving, foothe. 




VICTORIA — {taking her hand, ) 

Yet (hall the vows that bound our youthful hearts 
Remain inviolate. 


And fhall Alonzo's ? 
Ah, no ! For nature here makes a diftinftion ; 
Forms man's large heart for many a various duty. 
And blends his paflions into a republic — 
While -woman, born for love ^d foftnefs only. 
Delights to feel love's abfolute dominion ! 

— Then tell thy brother 

[Coyifujed Jhoiits heard, 


Look up, dear Almeyda ! 
Revive, and fpcak thy purpofe. 

ALMEYDA — [leaning OH her and fluttered,) 

Tell thy brother, 
Almeyda will not bind him by one vow; 
Nor claim one facrifice. — Pleas'd to have lov'd, 
Pleas'd to have been bclov'd — to that remembrance 
She confecrates each future throb of pafTion i 
And if fhe dares imagine yet ajoy, 
'Twould be to knozv him bltil, flie might have 
made fo. 


14 A L M E Y D A; 


My father comes. — Oh ! now, my befl: Almeyda ! 
Now be yourfelf, and dignify the moment. 

ALMEYDA — {faintly), 
'Tis not in dying we moft fhew our courage ; 
Ah, no ! *tis in the fearful preparation 

Enter Ramirez, attended. 

Heahh to my benefadlor I glorious title. 
More dear than that of father ! — He but gives 
A vulgar being, while the man who rears 
O^r virtues to exiftence, is next Heav'n, 
The worlhipp'd of our reafon. 


Rife, Almeyda ! 
Queen of Granada, rife ! we gladly hail thee. 
Thy kinfman comes to inveft thee with dominion. 
And give thee to an eager nation's eyes. — 
I glory, thus accomplifh'd, to return thee. 


Ah ! reconcile me to my fate by coldnefs. 
—Know all the danger of this tender flatt'ry ! 




In the poof word adieu, I fum each wifh 
AfFeftion ever form'd, in blefiing virtue. 
Farewel, at once— I yieid thee to thy duty ! 
— Call into a6lion ev'ry latent pov/V, 
Reign o'er thyJelf~^o (halt thou blefs'thy people. 

ALMEYDA-~(;7v/;;^ to^joards them). 
Tear out this heart ! but do not, do not quit me ! 
Oh ! do not fnap at once each link in life. 
And leave mt folitary in creation ! 


Afflia us not with fuch a vain requeft. 
'^^.y'vi now our troops evacuate the caftle. 
And thine affume each poft.— Abdallah waits 
To pafs one gate until I quit the other. 
-Farewel, Aln:ieyda ! grace thy glorious fortune. 

i^i^U^YTiK finks under the regal Canopy, In tears — 
lie Moorifi Mufic founds, and a long train entering 
do her homage, and arrange on each ftde ; hji comes 
Abdallah, with the Diadem borne before him, 

ABDALLAH — (doifjg homage). 
Fair daughter of Almanzor ! thus his brother 
Hails thy return to freedom and dominion—- 
Thus tenders thee thy rich inheritance ! 
And thus, the formal tafk of duty ended, 
Clafps thee with kindred, fympathifing love: 


i6 A L M E Y D A. 

Bids thofe bright eyes fhake off the lucid drops. 
And beam with all their own unequall'd luflre, 


Alls ! already he begins to flatter. (afide, 

— 1 were not worthy of your tender'd love. 
My princely uncle, could I thus forget 
At once the friends who rear'd me.— 

ABDALLAH — {w'lth a fierce irony). 
Friends do you call them ? 
You are too young thus nicely to diftinguifh. 
Give nor the crafty foe fuch undue honour. 
Call thofe, indeed, your friendly who now furround 

you ; 
Call the fierce foldiers too your friends y whofpread 
In proud array o'er yonder pleafant plain j-^ 
Nor think him lejs yowv friend, whofe policy 
Fomented the rebellion, wnich oblig'd 
Ramirez to reftore you. 


Oh ! my heart ! 

Alonzo's abfence then I owe to you ! {afide* 

Noble Abdallah ! be but gentle with me. 
And I will meekly bear ev'n reprehenfion. 
-^All are vny friends, who only wifh to ferve me; 
Yet, let me add, I hardly owe thofe more 
Who give my crown, than he who form'd mc 
for it. 





Curfe on his polifh'd arts ! they've made thee fubtle ; 
And I muft deeply probe thy nature's weaknefs. 
Ere yet thou charm'ft each hearer.— -(^z/?^/?.) Fair 

Almcyda ! 
Emancipate thy foul from this fond bondage ; 
Live to Granada, and forget Caftile ! 
—-No more repeat, with cherifh'd latent love. 
Names we were born to hatcj but feek to win. 
By partial kindnefs, thofe, who ever dread 
The empire of a woman. 


Have I empire ? 
Ah ! no ; for in the hour that ought to give it, 
I firft experience bondage, Stay, Ramirez, 
King of Caftile ! Oh ! hear me, and return ! 
Again receive — proteft me ! Bind thefe handst 
But give my heart its freedom ! Dear Victoria ! 
Fix not thy tearful eyes upon thefe walls. 
Left: I renounce all duties, and all ties. 
To dwell with thee and friendihip ! Noble lords. 
Pardon, I pray, frank nature's ebullition. 
And fee ev'n virtue in the eager tranfport. 
—The love, I thus avow, was fairly won. 
By equal love, and ever-lib'ral treatment. 
Be Uke Caftile indulgent, and this heart 
Alike will glow with gratitude to you j 
Will proudly cherilh ev'ry regal virtue^ 

D Shut 


Shut out regret for all which it refigns, 
Nor own, ev'n to itfelf, it wants a joy^ 
While yet a duty clainas it. 


'this is reafon 
There fpoke the royal heirefs of Almanzor, 
And no Caftilian Jlave, 


Still muft I druggie {afide, 


Why do thofe beauteous eyes ftill feek the ground ? 
Oh ! raife them, and furvey the golden future. 
Thou know/d not yet the pleafures of dominion ! 
— Be willing to be happy, and each means. 
Indulgent Heav*n, in plenitude of pow'r. 
E'er gave humanity, is thine — For thee. 
Rich nature crowns this land with varying beauty i 
And laboring art here fixes his perfe6lion. 
The fea wafts hither every foreign treafure. 
And pale-eyed fciencc waits to tell their value. 
— For thee, the poet's light hand fweeps the lyre. 
With melody unequall'd ! Happy thoufands 
But wait to view thee, and to want a wifh ; 
While thofe inur'd to mis'ry, in thy coming, 
Find an uncertain hope that foothes each pain, 
— .Oh ! new to life j accept, enjoy its bleflings ! 
Come forth^ and be ador'd ! My fon awaits thee : 



Thy fatker's vet'rans, under his command. 
Impatiently require their blooming queen, 

ALMEYDA. — [glvlng him her hand), 

Conduft me wherefoe'er my duty calls. 
And, oh ! may no unbidden pang intrude. 
To dim with tears thefe gildings of my fortune ! 

[Exeunt, the Muftc founding. 







£«/(?r Abdallah and Ok asmyh, 


W HEN wilt thou learn, my fon, to guard thy 

Which fpeaks but too expreflively by glances ? 
— I would not wilh the council to difcern 
They but propofe our pleafure. « 


Pray you, pardon. 
If ardent nature ftifles feebler leafon. 
— Could I behold Almeyda, and reflrain 
This glow of tranfport, ne'er could I defervc 
The blifs our prophet promifes the faithful. 
— No, not himfelf, though Heav'n infpir'd, ercj 

So exquifite a beauty ! Yet that charm. 
Nature's prime gift to woman, in Almeyda 
Is loft — abforpt in mind ! 




Check not thy tranfport j 
For tho' to others I would have thee filent. 
To me be wholly frank ; and thus reward mc 
For all my anxious, fond folicitude. 
Thro' many a long, long year. I own, I fear*d 
That haughtinefs, ill-fuited to her years. 
Would ftrike thee with difpleafure. 


Call not thus 
The facred confcioufnefs that waits on beauty. 
And awes the wiflies it awakes ! I ever 
Difdain'd our narrow laws, which make the fex 
Domeftic, artificial beings merely.— 
— No ! 'tis a charafter refin'd, decided. 
That greatly charms the foul, and charms for ever ! 
— Why knew I not l^efore (he was unequall'd ? 

A B D AL L A H — (JmiUng Jarcajlically), 
Perchance ev'n now / know it not ; yet hear 
Thefe youthful flights well pleas'd : for thus each 

Adorns his fancy's choice. 


But who can boaft 
A choice like mine ? Nor did ev'n I fufpeft. 
Indulgent Heav'n in prodigality. 


22 A L M E Y D A. 

Had centered all perfedion in one woman. 
I canne prepar'd by rigid rules to judge her — 
l^er before whom all rules, all modes, mud vanifli! 
— For, oh! when firfl: my eyes beheld the queen. 
My heart avow'd her empire ere my tongue. 
I wond'ring ^*iz'd I and, gazing more, more won- 

der'd ! 
Ethereal lovelinefs informs her frame. 
And beams in living glory from her eyes ! 
Yet o'er thefe charms fublime, meek modefly 
Draws a tranfparent veil of wand'ring giaces. 
As fleecy clouds flit o'er the noonday fun. 
And leave us opportunity to gaze. 
Upon an orb too bright elfe for beholding ! 


I could grow once again a boy to hear thee— 
Graces I could perceive — not perfe6t beauty — 


Beauty's an indeterminate idea 
Till ftji'd by love — whofe evcr-pow'rful magic 
Awakens a new being — love, when heav'n 
Leaves to the vulgar fenfe its work imperfedl. 
Illumes our fight to trace the angel there. 
— Thro' love we fhare our Maker's great prero- 
Creating ev'ry charm, and then approving ! 
— Yet >yhen (he fpoke. I half forgot her beauty — 
Oh ! with what melting harmony, fhe won 


A L M E Y D A. 3^ 

The very air to filencej no rude breath 

Dar'd blend with her's, but nature's felf flood 

Awe-ftruck, ev'n as Orafmyn — 


Be warn'd in time 
Againft a rev'rence fo profound ; for u'omen 
(Capricious flill and wayward) often fcorn 
Who grafps with tremhlvig hand the fancied fetter; 
While with diflinguifhing regard, they view 
The bolder man, who wears it as an ornament, 

ORASMYN (difdainfuUy) 
How fhould this gen'ral cenlure touch Almeyda ? 


Nay then thou lov'fl indeed if thou haft found 
Already (he is peerleis — I have done — 
E'en win her thy own way ; but win her quickly. 
To match thee with Almeyda, and exalt thee 
To empire in her right, has been I own 
The obje6t of my life — nor Ihould 1 think 
That life itfelf too dear to crown my purpole. 
— In the bold outline of my policy. 
I heeded not, 'tis true, the glowing colours 
Fond fancy gives her tav'rites — yet thofe tints 
Complete life's picture well — to fee thee great 
Was all I alk'd but to behold thee happy 
Leaves mc without a wifh ! 


2f A L M E Y D A, 


Still in this;i 
As in each incident of various life, 
1 owe much to my father ! yet for once 
This heart afierts a right to guide itfelf — 
Nor would obtrude too early on Almeyda, 
A paflion fhe might doubt. — 


yfgain thou err'ft: — 
But could'fl: thou win my judgment to approve 
This idle fcruple, it were now too late. — 
The Council know my thoughts, and have ere this 
Propofd thee to the Queen. 


Prefumptuous !— rafh ! — 


Judicious rather ! — fce'ft thou not the prudence 
To bind her to compliance, e'er (he knows 
The pow'r, the pride, the pleafure of dominion ? 


But what can bind the hearty fave its own choice ? 
I would have woo'd her with watchful eyes. 
Such unremitting tender, prompt, affedion. 
As might have won her of herfelf, and crown'd 
The future davs of both with happinefs. 



— Oh ! never let ambition tie the knot. 
Pure love alone can hallow ! 


Would 'twere tied, 
Tho' all this wooing follow'd — fon, 1 tell thee, 
Effential is the diff'rence of her Hate, 
Immured within this caftle, where I reign — 
While thou without maintaln'ft a like controul. 
And an obfequious council fpeak our will. 
To the elation of unbounded pow'r. 
The fweets of flattVy, and the charm of fondncfs. 
The glowing grace of popularity ! — 
Almeyda wants not fhrewdnefs foon to learn. 
If Ihe would fee Granada, fhe muft wed thee. 

ORASMYN ( turning Jcrrow fully from him.) 
More changeable than are the vernal clouds. 
Which borrow heav'n's own hues one hour to 

charm us, 
And e'er the next burft in a gloomy deluge. 
Is the fond happinefs a lover fancies ! 
—Oh, I do fear me, mine is gone already ! 
Did Ihe not bear an elevated mind, 
She might unconfcious (hare a common fate 
And fo perhaps might I — content to lofe 
Our lives in apathy, and call it duty. 
— But well Almeyda knows the rights of fex. 
Of rank, and all the heart's refined dellindions 
Nor did llie meet in mine one uncongenial. ^ 

E — Pardon 

46 A L M E Y D A. 

-^Pardon, my Lord, thcle vain regrets — I'll quell 

And once more wait thee. 


It is ever (o, 
Still in fruition are our wifhes punifhed. 
— Orafmyn, I would have thee wed thy coufin, 
But why this adoration ? — when I fee her, 
T he fpirits of the dead arife before me. 
And wither all my projects, all my pow'rs ! 
—Wherefore Ihould man invent a hell hereafter ? 
Alas ! guilt makes one here I and he who fins, 
Tho' never mortal eye, or voice reprove him. 
Finds in his bofom every fiend that peoples 
The dark profound — in her I fee her brothers- 
Yet mud fhe be Orafmyn's bride, or — nothing, 



A L M E Y D A. 27 



Enter Alm£yda, followed by Abra. 


" Are thefe the charms of empire ? Have we pow'r 
" To give that happinefs, we ne'er mull know ? 
" — The meaneft flave attending on our perfon, 
*' Makes her hearths free eledion, and adorns 
*' With life's firft charm a poor, and vulgar home 1 
<f — While rank, that fplendid mifery to woman, 
** Enchains us to the car of vI6lor man ; 
" And barterd now by policy, now honor, 
** We buy an enemy, or we/.v a friend 1" 
-^Marry Orajmyn^-^no ambitious uncle ; 
Nor he, nor thou, fhall thus controul my will. 
Nor ev'n your inftrument the fervile council. 
— I was devoted thus — allotted — wedded — 
Giv'n, like the mere incumbrance of my crown, 
E'er yet I wore it — tell me gentle maid, 
(For all can tell me of my wayward fate 
More than I know myfelr) was I not giv'n y 
Long fince to this young Prince ? 


Gracious lady. 
So much your people tender Prince Orafmyn, 
They much defire the union — 


iS" A L M E y D A. 


Then Oraflnyn, 
And his more crafty father, have feduced 
My people from their duty. — 

Dare I add. 
Since youth's fair promife ripen'd into manhood, 
Orafm3'n ftill has rif'n in fame, in virtue ! 
Your friends all love — your enemies all fear hii"r>, 

ALMEYDA (J^g^^^g-) 

And fo e'er long may I— 


Oh ! do not wrong him [ — ^ 
Ne^er has the Prince difgraced your ov/n great 

By one invidious, fordid, felfiHi, aflion. 
He feels a brave contempt of mortal praife, 
F-v'n with a mighty av'rice of defcrt — 
To him the faulty fly, fecure to find 
Th* indulgence he requires not — while the wretched* 
Freely demand his pity, and prote6lion — 
■ — His gifts forerun his prom.ife. 

A I M E y D A (disdainfully). 

Well thou fpeak'ft it \ 



" ABRA, 

*' Believe mcj madam, when you better know him, 
" I fliall be but your echo. In my eyes, 
" (And can I give the prince a nobler praife ?) 
*' In charadler, as features he is hke you. 


** Indeed, I own, I fee not the refemblance, 
" And, bur for vanity, fhould call thee partial, 


Yet am 1 merely juft — Though were I more. 
In m€ it would be gratitude. My brother 
Owes to Orafmyn a diftinguifli'd fortune' ■ ■ 


He meanly, therefore, plac'd thee near our perfon, 
A bufy advocate. — — Retire, and leave me. 

[Exit Aha, 
I am environ'd by fuch fycophants — • 
And unobfcrv'd can fcarcely breathe a figh ! 
Thinks he by little arts like thefe to win me ? 
—No ! were my heart not wholly thine, AlonzOj 
Th' afpiring, felhfli lover, ne'er fhould gain it, 
— Yet much I dread Abdallah. On his brow 
Lives a black penetration, which deep-pierces 
Thro' virtue's thin and variable complexion, 
Extrading oft, in bluflies, the foul's meaning. 
Ah, wherefore breaks he on me ? 




Enter Abdallah. 


Sweet Almeyda ! 
Swift are the feet of thofe who bear glad tidings. 
Already hath the councirs wife propofal, 
— Already hath thy gracious filence reach'd me.— 
— Bleft beyond fathers, in a fon, 'tis thou. 
Thou only, who canft blefs me with a daughter ! 


Silence, my lord, imphes not a decifion. 
Born in affliilion, and in flav'ry nurtured — 
The world, and all its ways, to me unknown, 
I muft have time to learn the needful fcience. 


Thou fhalt efcape the deep, laborious ftudy ; 
Enjoy the fweets of life, with care unmix'd j 
Become at once the idol of Orafmyn, 
And of a joyful people ! 


I want fancy. 
To tinge the pifture with fo rich a colour. 
— Rais'd on a fudden to a fearful heighth, 
I view, uncertain which to chufe, the paths 
That wind around me in the world's vafl: maze. 


A L M E Y D A. 31 


Orafmyh's hand will guide — his heart fuftain thee. 
*' — Would I were not his Hre! for then, Almeyda, 
** I might unblufl^ing dwell upon his merits ; 
*' Number the virtues, that from reafon's dawn, 
*' Found in his heart their home, while, true to 

'^ He, with unequall'd fame, hath fought — hath 

conquer'd ! 


Orafmyn's merits, time, my lord, will teach 

me. — 
Seek not at once to fnatch me from myfelf. 
— Were I to wed, w^hile hardly yet enfranchis'd, 
'Twould mark a latent weaknefs in my nature. 
Or a determin'd felfifhnefs in thine. 


Ay } were thy fpoufe ignoble — "jnbelov'd. 
But with my Jon J diflionour ne'er was nam'd ! 
He was thy father's choice — his eye's laft object. 
When life receded faft, he call'd Orafmyn ; 
Then, with parental fondnefs, wrung his hand. 
And charg'd him to entender his Almeyda. — 
■ — Me he conjured to fee his will obey d. 
And guard you both. — — 




Alas ! fo well to guard us ! 
As may complete thy will no lefs than his. (afide. 
Kings can give crowns, my lord, and/r/es commands j 
Yet nature fometimes gives the heart a pow'r 
To reft feif-poiz'd, ev'n as the globe we tread on. 
Dependent on no breath but our Creator's. 

ABDALLAH. — (fiercely). 
" Yet man incensed, on this wide globe can fpread 
" A ruin nature fhrinks from ; ftain her blooms 
" "With human blood, and load the vernal gales 
** With groans but mock'd by winter's rudefl 

" Nay, ftart not, princefs ! 'tis thyfelf has taught 

" To threat by implication. 


" Savage tyrant ! 
*' Viftoria ! oh, Vidoria ! well thou fpok'fl him. 



But fee, thy lover ! And at his approach 
My fwelling heart o'erflows with lendernefs ! 
How could I cherifh, worlfhip, love Almeyda, 
Would fhe but deign alike to bend her nature ! 


A L ME YD A. 33 

OR ASMYK-^ (entering, kneels). 

Say, will my fov'reign pardon, if I prefs 
Unlicens'd on her leifure ; break thro' forms 
Cold hearts impos'd, to level with themfelves 
More gen'rous natures, thus again to tender 
A homage circles never knew to pay — 
A vow imprinted here ? 


Orafmyn, rife ! 
The pageant's o'er; and this devotion, mock'rr, 

If to behold Almeyda, and adore her ; 
To fee in fancy's eye the world created. 
And, in herfelf, the firfl:, the only woman ; 
In each new glance to find a namelefs "charm. 
And in each figh to breathe a new infedion : 
If this offend, ah, who (hall gain her favour ? 


A flame at once fo prudent and fo fudden 
Confided to the council, ere its objed. 
May well furprize— — 


Forgive the interruption — r— 
And know, Almeyda ! hardly wouldfr thou fcorn 
Such intervention, more than would Orafmyn. 

• Yet, by thy own pure nature, deign to judge 

F ^Of 

34 A L M E Y D A. 

Of his before thee ! fanflion but his fervice j 
Allow him time to win upon thy favour, 
And, by the holy warmth that prompts the vow. 
Thy will (hall guide him 1 


Wherefore trull to iime? 
This moment ftamps the paffion and its motive. 
—I would like you be guarded, prudent, felfilli ; 
Preferve a filence might enfure my fafety. 
And refl upon the future. — But my foul 
Difdains the mean, the temporifing wifdom. 
Nor knows to tremble in the caufe of truth. 

Vie with me, princes, in fincerity ! 
Hence with inflated phrafe ! and plainly fay. 
It is my diadem, not me, you woo. 


Were that Orafmyn's obje6l, he might wear it. 
WHio fhall oppofe his will ? A feeble woman ! 
Of little eftimation in fociety. 
And lefs in empire ■ ' ■ 


Spare me. Sir ! oh ! fpare me 
The deep difgrace of this ungovern'd pafllon I 


Ev'n in his infolence, I praife his candour ; 
And moft dcfpife who makes the moft profefllons. 

{jQ Orafmyn, 



Yet, hear me, princefs ! nor incenfe a nature 
That deigns once more to ilruggle with its fierce- 

" His only fault, Ocafmyn owes to thee : 
" A fond, a foolifli pafiion, chills his pow'rs, 
" And leaves him but the femblance of himfelf. 
" Had he thus trembled in the battle's front, 
" Applauding nations ne'er had throng'd to fee 

<* Nor hadft thou worn the crown thou vaunt'fl: i^o 

bravely ! 
Droop not, my fon, beneath a woman's frown. 
Tomorrow, and perhaps the fair one fues ! 
Such is their weak, their flufluating natures. 
Ev'n now this proud one {brinks ! Upon her cheek 
The rofe of youth is blanch'd. Princefs! farewell j 
Remember, I or hate, or love, with ardour ! 
*Tis yet within thy pow'r to /a; the feeling. 


Alas ! what pow'r can change it ? Loft Almeyda ! 

ORASMYN. {irrefolutely'). 
How fliall a heart ill-underftood, abhorr'd. 
Win on thy confidence, or guide thy councils ? 
By heav'n ! I melt in womanifh lamentings. 
Thus innocently to excite thy hatred ! 
Yet, hear me ! be advis'd ; difguifc thy fceh'ngs. 

F 1 Thy 

36 A L M E Y D A. 

Tlay fafety refts in quitting this lone fortrefs ! 
And ev'ry hour thou ftay'ft in it, diflrads me. 


Who fliall endue thee with the grace of truth. 
Or give me faith ro truft thee ? Well 1 fee. 
One is to terrify, and one to foothe me ! 
" — Tho' had induigent nature crown'd thy youth 
" With ev'ry charm and virtue giv'n to man, 
" Yet left thee ftill the fon of fierce Abdallah, 
*^ Ev'n tho' the earth I ftand on yawn'd '\ grave, 
*' That grave fhould be my choice, rather than 
thee 1 
Have I for this renounc'd each tender tye. 
Of bleeding love, and ever faithful friendfhip ? 
•—Not thus Alonzo woo'd — Victoria won me ! 
No fighs, no tears, no honours, no defpair ! 
No threat of mifery, no dread of bondage. 
No found of death e'er mingled with his pafTion ! 
— His polifh'd heart felt, and infpired a love. 
Which, far outfwcllirs: this world's narrow bound. 
Both may delight to bear into a better ! 


7 \\ unwary flight expounds a myftery 
My fhallow fenfe o'erlook'd. Oh ! well I fee 
Wh;' thou wouldil not do juftice to Orafmyn. 
*--Yeu. oh ! I pity, fir more than I blamiC thee! 
Hide fr( m all eyes, but chiefly from my father's, 
Th' uni'andion'd prepoflTelTion ! Ruin — murder, 

A thou- 


A thoufand ills, I will not fhock thy fenfe with. 
Lurk, in the thought of love, and of Alonzo ! 
— Born to adore, to follow, to proteft thee ! 
Think not Orafmyn will defert himfelf. 

To force a heart upon thee ! Oh, farewell ! 

I cannot coin in words my foul's foft rsieaning ! 


There is a glowing grandeur in this prince. 
Worthy a better fire ! Bur, oh, Alonzo ! 
Ne'er fhalt thou know the ibadow of a rival, 
£v'n tho' alone I breail: the beating ftorm. 
And fall the fingle objed of its rage ! 






E?iier Abdallah, followed by art OJicer, 


t^OMMAND a council ? without my concur- 
rence ! 
Aheady dares fhe queen it ? Hafte I and fay 
You found me indifpos'd ; and wave the meeting. 
•—While to the lords you urge — not my excufe. 
But frame one from Almeyda.- 
Shouldft thou fuggeft an tntdle5lual wand'ringt 
Which makes her Jay and uiijay^ it were apt. 
Thou art difcerning, and do'ft underftand me 
She is too young to follow her own guidance, 
While that of others wrings her ! {Exit Officer^ 

Have I waded 
Thro' many an artifice, and many an horror. 
Seen time and circumftance mature my views. 
To let a haughty, fooliih woman, crofs me ? 


A L M E Y D A. 39 

—Hah ! — might I not improve my own fuggcflion. 
And work her high-wrought paffions into frenzy ? 

Enter Nourassin. 


^^ Heard you, my lord, the fummons from the 
queen ? 


Ay — and, a moment after, her excufe.- 

'* Would I had heard of aught more rational ! 
" Noble Nouraflin ! I have here fad ftruggles. 
'' The ties of blood, my fon's fend paffion for 

'' Thofe graces that might touch the cclJeft heart, 
" All bid me hide the truth my duty claims. > 
" — Her fudden darts — Her wild apoftrophes 
" To the Caflilian traitors, as we hail'd her, 
*' Strucjc all likemc with wonder ! 


" In a woman, 
^' Thofe flights of fancy, tinflur'd with romance, 
^^ Are but an added charm. 


" 0{ fancy, faidil: thou ,? 
" Alas, of erring rcafon ! — Now, by ftarts, 

" With 

A L M E Y D A. 


" With more than mortal eloquence, fhe fpeaks; 
'* Then fudden breaks forth into incoherence, 
" While we in vain would catch die fleeting fenfe. 


*' Conceive you it to be a fudden wand'ring, 
*^ Or grafted on her childhood ? Yet, if fo, 
" How could Ramirez guard fo well the fecret ? 


«* 'Twas a rich fecret to him ! For Almeyda, 
" What vaft advantages have we not yielded ? 
*« —Yet, fince at intervals Ihe is h(frfelf, 
" And bears the nobleft ftamp of giacious nature, 
*' 'Twere dangerous to prefent her to the vulgar, 
*' Whofe eyes perform the office of more fenfcs, 
*' And fecm to heaVj as v/ell as/d-.?. A day 
*« Will make the truth apparent; or deftroy her 1 

" Spare me the painful office of reporting 
" What I have thus difclos'd ! fpare, too, her 
lover ! 


** My prefence fhall not wound him. — I will haften 
" To tell this mournful news. [Exil Nourajfm^ 


" So ! Now I breathe, 
** And '■ivell muft ufe the interval I've gain'd ! 



Enter Orasmyn. 

'f Whatj ftill with folded arms, and downcaft eyes ! 
** Watching the hourly lengthening of thy fhadow, 
" When thou fliouldft win an enfipire ? 


** Win an angel !— — 
** And could I win her, by a love as pure 


As angels might infpire, I were moft happy 1 


" Oh ! be lefs heav'nly in your adoration, 
*' If you would ever gain an earthly miftrefs, 


*^ Harfh as Ihe is, / cannot treat her lightly. 
" — Undone already by officious kindnefs, 
" I think no more of felf — but of Almcyda ! 
** — Oh, fee you not the charm fublime of greatnefs, 
** Break thro' the weak conftraints of fex and 

*' And, like the lights that fhine againfl the Pole, 
" Illumine ev'n her coldnefs ? Wherefore make 

" A poor condition with a foul fo noble, 
" Or fetter thus her choice ? 


" Do I hear thee ! 


4-2 ALxMEYDA. 


" Believe me, Sir, I fpeak my warmeft feeling! 

" — Endu'd with ev'ry pow'r to grace her rank^ 

'' Once place Almeyda on the throne flic's born to 5 

" Give that fuperior nature all its fcope ; 

'* Her duty to her people, and herfelf — 

*^ The pow'r, the privilege, the pride of blefling, 

" Will waken, fill, dilate, her gen'rous hearr, 

*' Chafe thence the cherifh'd idol of her childhood, 

*' And leave her judgment free ! Alonzo, then, ' 

" Envi'd Alonzo 1 will no more engrofs her. 


" Ah ! fay'ft thou ? Is Alonzo then her idol ? 
*' That was a flretch of policy beyond me — 


'^ — Pardon a jcaloufy felf-love produced — 
" Alonzo bears a name, may well alarm 
" A flighted lover" — 


" Would'Il th€U too deceive me ? 
'^ Alonzo — Oh I that fingle word expounds^, 
*' Volumes of fofc fineflcs, female wiles, 
*' All her averfion to the match propof'd, 
" And all her foolifh fondnefs for Caftile \ 
*' — Who with her heart her own would {com 
Orafmyn V 


A L M E Y D A. 43 


^f Ev'n were it fo, 'tis but her nature's weaknels. 
" Her co'j Ury, her religion, and her laws, 
*' All, have forever torn her from Alonzo ! 
** — Nor do I think fo meanly of tnyjelfy 
** But that a latent hope flill lingers here, 
<^ One day to win her." 


" Were flie aught but woman 
" Thou might'ft fucceed i but that fex, fix'd as 


*' In hatred, and in love, yields not to reafon. 
** A figh, a tear, a folly, or a willi. 

Annihilates in them each ^tn^Q of duty, 
" Each feeling, but for fcif, and for their idol. 
'— 'Tis true, their paffions they can change lik»e 

" And as fantaftically ; but ne'er yet 
** Adopted either, fave from fomc caprice." 

ORASMYN (with dijdain.) 

" If the moft charming half of the creation 
** Is born thus faulty, man might furely reft 
** Content with fuperiority, nor claim 
" The meannefs of a triumph 1" 





« Moft accurf'd, 
'' Be ever this romantick, wayward, paflion ! 
" Giv'n to fubdue the crefted pride of manhood, 
" And lay us creeping at the feet of beauty — 
" — Already has it coft me all his duty, 
" All his efteem — yet ftill his heart demands her. 
'' And fpiteof thefe/6^ro/V, gen'rous, ftruggles, 
*' Self-love, co-operating with ambition, 
" Will make him glad one day, my way to win her* 

EfiUr Ha MET. 


My Lord, ev'n now, a young Caftilian prefles 
Importunately to addrefs the Queen — 
I heeded well your wifh, and ftudious fought 
To learn his embafly j but, or prepared. 
By thofc who fent him, or his own difcretion, 
He foii'd my fkill. 



Thou win'ft for life my favour- 
Search, and fome curious billet, love -in/crib' d 
Will tell the mighty fecret. — 


Nought is found. 
Above his own degree— nor arms, nor letters- 

A L M E Y D A. 45 

Save but a ring; which he at firfi: deliver'd ; 
The guard incautious fent it to the Queen, 
Who wills to fee him. 


Ah ! there's more in this !— 
Careful conceal that I have been inforna'd. 
And lead Almcyda to the hall of audience. 
There, thro* the fecret lattice, I may hear, 
A tale of import — be thyfelf at hand — 
—Now, now, Orafmyn, comes thy fortune's crifis, 

\_Ex sunt fever al!)\ 



Enter Almeyda, gazing on a ring, 


Oh ! fond memorial of delightful days. 
For ever vanifh'd ! in this little mirror 
A thoufand fairy vifions pafs along, 
Of love, and blifs ! — upon Alonzo's hand. 
Mine playful fix'd thee ! — ah ! why art thou here ? 
— Com'ft thou the pledge o^Jafety, and of triumph. 
Or the cold legacy of parting nature ? ^ 

— Oh ! ftill belov'd ! tho' in the grave I fcek thee. 
Thus I accept thy gift ! — a bridal token ! — 
Attends the mellenger ? 



>iLONZO (entering difguijed.) 

He waits thy pleafure.— • 

ALMEYDA (Jlarting.) 

Support me heav'n ! for ah ! that voice fhould 

Long, long, acquaintance with this beating heart ! 
"—But the charm'd fenfe in many a various vifage, 
" 1 races a likenefs to the one ador*d, 
** And hears, in ev'ry Voice, the darling found !" 


Almeyda I 

ALMEVDA C fainting.) 
Oh grief! — oh agony I — oh namelefs horror! 


Lift up thine eyes, my foul ! and, like Alonzo, 
From this embrace dciivc a new exiftence ! 

ALMEYDA (Jprttjgirig from him in terror.) 

" How com'ft thou here ? What evil genius led 

" thee 
** To crofs yon fatal river ?" 


" He who led 

'* Lcander, through the deep in midnight horror, 
" «— But in his wekoms, be forgot his danger" 


A L M E Y D A. 47 


" Ah! thine is yet unknown" — fly, hafte, oh 

leave me ! 
Where waits thy train ? 


Amid the flaughter^d Murcians. 
Pride, pomp, and glory, yield to my Aimeyda ! 
In vain would t'.me, or diftauce, wreft her from me. 
She, (lie alonr, can Hiield me in the war. 
Or nerve my arm at the fierce battle's onfet. 
— I knew untold her danger — knew her fate 
Required a defperate conqueft ! that atchiev'd, 
I breath'd not till I fhould o'ertake my father ! 
— Judge of my feelings when I crofT'd his train. 
Retiring from this caftle — duty — honour 
Renown itfelf gave way to love, and thee — 
— I left my officers the pleafing taflc 
T'announce my triumph; and in mean difguife 
Unaided, and alone, thus reach'd thy prefence. 
— Ah ! wherefore reach'd it ? Since thine eve re- 
pels me ? 
No more the fond companion to my childhood. 
No more the worfhip'd idol of my vouth! 
Queen of Granada, nov/ thou lland'ft before me ! 
" — Perhaps — yet own it not — Orafmyn's love ?— 


" Alonzo, I will not debafe myfelf, 

" So far as to reproach thee ; yet my heart 

" Feels 

48 A L M E Y D A. 

" Feels all the fhock of being thus diflrufled ! 

" Alas ! thefe childifli tears defeat my purpofe ! — 

" Fain would I chide thee — fain would I correct 

** A littlenefs I fear'd not in thy nature, 

" Bccaufe it never mingled in my own — 

'* But love prevails, and in that leading pafllon, 

" All others melt away !'* 


" Thou foul of foftnefs ! 
*' Thus ever fpeak ! — thus ever fill my heart, 
" With love, with happy love, and I'll contrafl, 
" Whole ages of exiftence to one mom.ent ! 
«c — Mem'ry fhall treafure ev'ry'hallow'd word, 
^^ A charm, a precious charm, againft ill-fortune, 
" — Still in my ear will fk)at that only found, 
" To drown ambidon's trump, and death's deep 
" fummons." 


" Coiild I forget thy danger, my Alonzo, 

" Soft as thy own would be my foul's delirium." 


" What joy have I in love, fave love itfelf? 
" But ah ! has life bcfide fo fw'eet a charm ? 
'' Where elfe can mem'ry paufe without regret, 
" Where elfe imagination turn unwearied ! — 
«£ — Is there one pafllon in the human heart, 
*' Abl<>rbs the reft, fave love — love, mighty love, 

" Comprizing 


** Comprizing in the golden nowj at once 
" The future, and the paft, excludes fatiety— 
" *Tis the rich eflence of each gaudy flower, 
" Scatter'd t'adorn the rugged paths of life,''' 


Oh, hours ! oh, days ! which never mud return 
When thus thy accents charm'd me !— my Alonzo, 
Thou think'fl thou fee'ft me on my father's throne, 
"Whole nations fmiling when I deign to fmile. 
Or at my frown difmay'd— how would'ft thou feel 
If this bright vifion vanifh'd — if thefe halls, 
O'er-arch'd with gilded roofs, and gaudy fculp- 

Prefented only an imperii! prifon ? 
" How, if the radiant enfigns of dominion, , 
" Shrunk into chains ? — Alas ! more truly fuch, 
•' Than e'er I wore when in thy father's palace I" 
—Here in Granada*— mid my royal kindred. 
By councils flatter'd, and an army hail'd ! 
Almeyda, is a folitary wretch. 
No being fympathizes with favc you— 
ToUf only you, of all the vafl creation I 


Whom can'ft thou fear, my love, when I am near 
thee ? 


Heav'ns think'ft thou for myfelf, I feel this pang ? 
For thee, for thee^ alone, my nature Ihudders! 

H ** Life 


A L M E Y D A. 

" Life has no charm but what your prcfenc? 

" gives ir, 
" Nor death a fear but that your danger caufes !'* 
— And, ah ! that danger fearfully appals me ! 
Cold chills ev'n at this moment countcracbj 
The joy, the tender joy, I take to fee thee ! 


Art thou not fov'reign ? Who fliall over-rule thee ? 


That tyrant who alone permitted thee. 
To crofs this fatal barrier -, which alive 
Th'fU never flialt repafs ! — **' thou haft not knov/ri 

" him. 
" Bow'rs not the dove whene'er the vulture hovers, 
*' And Ihrink not I before the fierce Abdallah ? 
*' Ere yet he knew my fouls moft tender part 
" Ere thy name reach'd him how has he appall'd 

*' me 1 
" — I would have been thy fortune, my Aionzo, 
** But was ordain'd thy fate !" 


Were this fear juft, 
(Tho' furely 'tis thy fancy's wild creation) 
Yet were I fafe — alone, and unfufpedled. 
Have I approach'd thee ; and alike unknown 
May I retreat — recall once more my father; 
AlTert the pow'r our viftory has given us. 
And dilate to this infolent Abdallah ! 


A L ME YD A. 51 

A&DALLAH (riijhing OTi With giiards. ) 
Arreft this flave ! we'll fee who henceforth din fit es ! 

ALMEYDA (cloffing hts knecs,") 
Ere yet you fpeak ! — " Ere yet that dreadful 

" voice, 
** Denounces all your afpefl threatens, paiife ! 
*' Oh, paufe ! and liften to the voice of nature !" 
Thro'me Almanzor calls ; through me he bids, 
Ev'n from the grave commands thee to be humane ! 


Would'ft thou arreft the fentence on thefe lips. 
Avow at once compliance with my will 
— Wilt thou divide thy throne with my Orafmyn, 
And Ihun to death diis minion ? 


" Ah, too fure, 
*• Were thefe fad eyes to fhut him out for ever, 
" Yet would my heart retain to death his image, 
" And my lafl figh be, like my fird, Alonzo's ! 

ALONzo {raifmg Almeyda.') 

" My fouls beft rreafure ! fpare this wafte of fofc- 
" nefs r 


" Yet, yer, can 1 condemn thee to the grave ? 
" Seal uhe black fenrenceof a ruthlefs tyranr, 

H 2 " And 

5i A L M E Y D A. 

''^ And blight thy youth jufl blolToming to glory ? 
" — Hear me, Abdallah— leave me but myfelf j 
*' And take, oh ! take, my rich inheritance \ 
*' The dire inheritance that has undone me ?— 
'' I afk but to retain a vain remembrance 
« Of him whofe life I fue for"-^ 


*^ I have faid — . 
" Nor can aught change my purpofe," 


Sweet Almeyda, 
Degrade not me by this humiliation ! — 
— I was not born to fupplicate a tyrant ; 
Who poorly plays upon thy fexes vveaknefs, 
^ — Abdallah knows too well the rights of nations, 
A father's feelings and a King's refentment. 
To dare afTail my life. — 


Ah ! fay 'ft thou^ youth ? 
Art thou fo new to life, univerf'd in policy, 
To think the world need witnefs our decrees ? 
Thou, thou thyfelf, haft Ihewn me all my pow'r. 
Did 1 not learn from thy own lips, ev'n now. 
Unknown, and unafTifted, thou art here? 
Here, in Granada's confines — in a fortrefs. 
Where tonguelefs minifters perform my will. 
Amid the murky horrors of the night. 



And hollow rocks inter the namelefs victim ! 

— Ev'n novN? death yawns beneath thy feet, a wordy 

A look, of mine, configns thee to oblivion ! 


While I furvive ? — Ah ! how dar'fl thou pre- 

fume it ? 
— His name— his fate, fliould echo thro' the 

world — 
To his dear mem'ry, I'd devote my days, 
^^nd live but to avenge him. 


Thou too brave me! 
Know thou flialt live in vain — tliy feeble voice 
Tho' truth-infpir'd, as was the Dardan maids. 
Like her's Hi all cry unheeded i nor can aught. 
Save him, or thee^ but infti^nt, prompt, obedi- 


Oh ! my too timid heart!— fpeak/lov'd Alonzo— 
There is a brutal fiercenefs in his nature, 
Which mine was born to flirink from I — bufy fancy, 
Fills up the bloody outline he has drawn. 
And fees thee breathlefs ! — murder'd !— - 




Thus behold me— 
Ere to prolong an ignominious being, 
1 urge thee to debafe a noble nature. 
Or break a vow to me indiflbluble ! 

ABDALLAH (/o the guardsJ) 

Drag hence this flave — untold ye know the reft:. 

\_Alonzo is draggd off and Jlmeyda 
fails at the feet of Abdalla.'\ 


" Oh ! yet have mercy ! — hear in time my 

cries !" — 

\She rifes '■jjith majejly* 
Infulting tyrant ! — dread my dcfperation ! 
If thy malignity aflail a life. 
To which that wildly throbbing in this bofom. 
Is valuelefs, nor fear, nor pride, fhall bound mej 
I will not reft, till I have found a means 
To make my vengeance like thine own — confum- 



Thoa art too kind to warn me of thy purpofe— 
'•' Learn firft by what enchantment thou fhalt pafs 
" The bounds my pow'r prefcribes thee — in thefe 
** chambers 

" Nnpiticd 

A L M E Y D A. 55 

" Unpitied — unafTifted — fhalt thou rage, 

" Till thou haft found ^omtfurer way to move mc. 

—The officer on guard ? 

Enter H a m et, ajtd afterwards A b r a . 
Hamet, approach 
Thou know'ft my temper — if thy life be dear 
Guard well the Queen's apartment; nor allow 
One being to pafs out — not ev'n herfelf — 
— Reafons too cogent for thy knowledge, urge, - 
This feemingly ftri(fl meafure— 


" Ton are human ! 
*^ Oh, hear ! yet hear one word." — 

ABD ALLAH {fiercely to Hamet J) 

" Have I not fpoke ?" 

[Hamet retires. 
Thou fee'ft my powV 


Burft, burft, at once my heart ! 
This conflift is too mighty ! — do not leave me, 

{fees Abdallah returning.') 
For dreadful as the fight is, I can never. 
Never, furvive the moment of thy going-—' 
" — As yet he breathes — as yet my foul dares che- 

" rilh 
<,' The feeble hope that binds her down to fufFer ? 

" — HarOi 


" — Harfli as thou look'fl — -yet nature mud have 

" giv'n thee, 
" Affcflions, in their turn, as exquifite, 
"As thofe that rend thefe heartftrings" — can'Il 

thou then 
Oh ! can 'ft thou blight my youth with fuch a 

forrow ? 
—Precipitate me early to the grave, 
And mark life's little interval with frenzy ? 
—Speak, tell me> thou wilt fave him ? 

ORASMYN" (/peaks enter ing.") 

That fweet voiccj 
Strikes on the heart thy cruelty has chill'd. 
And, like the lyre of Orpheus, charms the dead ! 
- — In tears Almeyda? — Wherefore this proftration ? 

ALMEYDA {ivtth frenzy,) 

— He*s murder'd 1 — loft !— no earthly powV can 

fave him 
The fiat is pronounc'd, and he muft perifii !— 
—Ah ! is it you Orafmyn ? — give me language. 
May touch this human rock into a heart ! 


•* Leave us, my fon"— 


'* My Lord, I pray your pardon. 



ABDALLAH (to her myjierioujly.) 

*f I have not to apprize thee of the terms j 
<« Wilt thou comply ?'* 


" Oh ! weep not thus, but fpeak 5 
*' Rack me no more with namelefs apprehenfions^ 
** Tell me Almeyda, all thy griefs, thy fears V* 


^houzn my griefr-my fear— 'tis thou deftroy'fl 


** Imperious woman ! in this hour of peril 

*' Still dar'ft ihou thwart me ; and of all the ways 

** That might incenfe me to thy hope's deftruc- 

" tion, 
« Thou'ft ta'en the furefl."— 


" I am yet a novice, 
" In fuff 'ring, and in forrow — thofe fad lelfons 
<« Mark'd not my bondage — I came home to learn 

" them. 
•*' Alas ! to what a home ! — I pray you take, 
" Since I, it feems, muft courf you to your pleafure, 
" The crown I have been mock'd with ! 




" Add not infult, 
" To that deep fcorn I never knew to merit 1" 


" Then he indeed is loft, and hope is extind— = 
" — Ev'n lijce a falling ftar, athwart the night, 
" It drops thus to the earth — too much — too much 
" Life — reafon — all are gone." 

(Abra and Orajmyn Jupport her,) 


" 'Twere well I fciz'd, 

*' This moment to withdraw ; ere yet Alonzo 

" Can afcertain his rank, or further crofs me ! 

" — Nor dare I now truft him — this hateful paf- 

« fion 

(looking towards Orafmyn.) 

<* Fills up his ev'ry thought, and wins him from 

« me." 


ORASMYN (to Ahra,) 
" Whence fprung this unintelligible tranfport ?" 


" Ev'n now, my Lord, I entered; nor from aught 
" Can guefs its caufe — the Queen receiv'd a 

" ftranger, 
" Who imporrun'd her for a private audience l" 



ALMEYDA (fiartifig Wildly ), 

*' Who, who would let him pafs ? — the deed is 

" doing ? 
" The fearful, bloody deed ! — and tears avail not ! 
^'^ — Ev'n the green earth gives figns of defo- 

" lation — 
" And the wild winds cry havock — oh 1 thou 

" dear one ! 
*^ Have I for this from infancy ador'd thee, 
" Have been by thee ador'd ? — Yet never wedded, 
*' Never affianc'd — never — one fond thought, 
" Perhaps took flight ere breath'd into a vow, 

*^ And lives emblazon'd in the eternal record !'* 



Allow mc to partakey tofoothej this anguifh— 
Oh ! give me t^ut to know its fccret caufe ! 


J'hou foothe it ? — Thou partake it ? — Mighty Alia ! 
This is but a refinement on misfortune— 
*ThoUy thou thyfelf ?iTt itsfirjl caufe — thy love. 
Thy felfifli, thy ambitious love, undoes me ! 
" Mine had been elfe a common mifery— , 
" — But I'll have fuch revenge — I have not fa- 

" fhion'd 
" The mafs of horrors floating in this brain, 
'* Yet thou befure flialt Ihare them 3" — hark ! he 


I 2 « And 


" And the dark deed's accompllfh'd !" pain, or 

*« No more fhall reach him — they are all my own 
" And I am theirs ! "— 


*' Oh ! this will end in madnefs, 
" I burft with vague defpair, and apprehenfion ! 
" ^bo was this ftranger ? — Whence his cmbafTy ? 
" J^hom mourn'ft thou thus ?" 


*' JVhom ? Is there then anothery 
** Of foul fo perfe6t, and of form fo noble ? 
" No, not in the vaft circle of creation 
*' — Ah!^ — are thofe tears? — then thou perhaps 

" art human!" 
Fly, fave him, fave him — bring him inftant hi- 
E're yet the life-blood blacken in his cheek, 
E're yet thofe eyes are feal'd in utter darknefs. 
And I'll forget the paft, will pardon all. 
Will worihip his preferver ! — vain — vain prayer 
Thou art Abdallah's Jonl — the dire inheritor. 
Of his obdurate nature ! — hence, abhor'd ! 
Oh ! for fome depth the fun may never pierce. 
Where I can wafte my being in lamenting ! 



A L M E Y D A. 6i 


Danger, and death, I've fac'd in many a form 
I've leap'd into the deadly breach ; and feen 
An hoft of jav'lins <juiv'ring at this bofonn. 
But never knew I fear, defpair, till now ! 
— Follow thy haplefs Queen, and in thy foothings 
Have better fortune ! — agoniz'd — bewilder'd — 

\_Exit Ahra. 
I dread I know not what — yet I obferv'd 
A ftrangenefs in my father's quick departure ! 
— Too well I know t'atchieve a darling purpofe. 
He would o'erleapthe bounds of truth, andjuftice. 
— Perhaps this youth — yet that's impolfible— 
Oh ! that Almeyda, would enough efteem me. 
To truft me with her forrows 1 

Re-enter Almeyda, leaning on A bra. 


He is gone ! 
Nor can 1 profit by returning reafon. 
To win his aid ! — ^Ah ! wherefore Ihould I win it? 
" Alonzo, now exifts but in my memory j 
** Yet here I feek him — here Iball ever wander, 
** Ev'n as the fpirits of the dead revifit, 
** The fpot were they have buried all their trea- 
" fure. 

" Here 

62 A L M E Y D A. 

" Here fancy piftures to the mental eye, 

** That graceful form, while yet it was corporeal! 

** Here laft I heard that voice 1— oh ! might it 

« break, 
*^ The bound 'twixt immortality, and life, 
" To charm with heav'n's own eloquence my 

" woes!" 


Befeech you. Madam, moderate this grief. 
The Prince's life is fafel 


Safe with Abdallah ? 


His fan, with gen'rous fervour fhar'd your forrow, 
A nd loves you too well, to defert its objed. 


** Abra, Orafmyn yet has love to learn 

*' Love turns abhorrent from an adt of violence, 

" Too deeply wounded with a forrowing figh — 

*' — Love! 'tis our all-refining touch ofhcav'n; 

" Whofc kindling emulation ever gives, 

" A felf-exafted eminence of goodnefs, 

*' To vulgar minds unknown !" 


« Yet is he fafe"— 
Ne'er will my brother facrifice his honour, 



Much as he loves Orafmyn, fears Abdallah, 
Or ftain his foul with murder— 


Ah! thy brother? 
Is then the officer on guard thy brother ? 


Raifd early to diftindion by Abdallah, 
Under himfelf he governs in this caftle. 
To h'lm you are in charge 


Oh ! Abra, hear me f* 
" If e'er your features bloffom'd into beauty, 
'^ Beneath the animating eye of love ! 
** If e'er the throbbing tenant of your bofom, 
" Felt the foft impulfe of a generous paflion," 
If you would not behold your heart's dear choice, 
Ijke mine, the vidim of fome horrid treafon. 
And be yourfelf a miferable maniac. 
Oh win your brother, to releafe Alonzo ! 


Alas ! too highly he regards his honor ! 
Nor dare I tempt it.— 


Call him inft'ant hither ! 



He wrll not yield — ^Tweet Princefs, be intreated, 


Obey me — nor reply — a weak blind hope. 

\^Exit Ahra» 
Still, like the bufy mole, cfTays to work, 
Its flow way ihro* the heavy weight fall'n here. 

{^prejfes her hand on her forehead. 

Re-enter Abra with Hamet. 

Thou guardian of my life in its befl treafurc ! 
Tell me, Alonzo lives ? 


He lives — as yet— 


h%yet — Oh heaven ! 


Alas ! it is too fure^ 
He totters on eternity's dark verge, 
Unconfcious of his danger — this fleep rock 
Thro' many a winding path is fcoop'd in dens. 
Unknown— impenetrable — one o'erhangs. 
An arm, which parting from the Guadalquiver, 
Deep-plunging feeks an undifcover'd courfe. — 



-—There, thro' a fearful chafmwild nature wrought. 
Full many a viflim to the fears of Hate, 
Has funk into oblivion.- — 


Mighty Alia ! 
The favage utter'd then but the mere truth. 
—-Thus will alTuredly Alonzo perifli, 
Unlefs thou fave him ! 


Me ! — impoflible ! 
Yet think not ought Ihall win me to deftroy him^ 


Oh ! venture not to fay thou want'lt the pow'r 
Left fudden frofl fhould burft this fwelling heart. 


I cannot, dare not difobey Abdallah ; 

Whofe bounty firft diftinguifli'd, ftill rewards mc. 


And cannot /diftinguifli — /reward ? 
Oh ! let me know Alonzo fafe, and free, 
And thou fhalt find I dare alTert my rights, 
Ev'n till I awe Abdallah ! 


Never — never-— 
His nature's fierce — obdurate — uncontroulable—' 

K — Deat/i 

66 A L M E Y D A. 

— Death in Its fimpkfl: form to man is dreadful. 
But when forerun by agony — by torture— 
And were I once to wrong his confidence-— 


Do not I too, know well his barb'rous nature*? 
— Haft thou a fear applies not to Alonzo ? 
Thus muft he fufFer — thus muft he expire, 
Unlefs thou 'rt won — Alas ! that I could barter. 
This vain, vain pageantry of regal pow'r. 
To be but one hour Hamet. — 


My touch'd heart, 
E\^'n bleeds with fympathy. — 


'Tis prophanation. 
To mingle in the anguifh thou reliev'ft not— 
— Said I an hour ? A few fhort moments. 
Would waft you o'er the river j and once landed 
Nor could Abdallah, nor his vengeance reach you ! 
— Ramirez, gracious Monarch, would reward, 
Protefl — adore his fon's deliverer ! 
A grateful nation eye thee with delight. 
While thy pure confcience would each plaudit 

echo 1 
Ev'n fbe who fues, one day with pride might call 

To fame, to wealth, to greatnefs ! 




Did not duty- 


Know'ft thou one duty ftronger than humanity ?— -• 

That awful principle by heav'n implanted, 

To ftill the raging of th* impetuous paffions. 

Or lead the fwelling current up to virtue ! 

— Oh I then be warn'd ! and as thou dye in 

Lift to the voice of heav'n that fpeaks thro* 


MA MET (kneeling.) 
Endu'd of heav'n ! it does indeed infpire thee ! 
And be my life, or long, or fhort, it waits 
Henforward on thy will ! 

ALMEYDA (leaning over him.) 1 

Oh ! be it crown'd. 
With ev'ry grace, and glory, — may no pain. 
No forrow touch the heart that melts with mercy, 
" But fuch a bleiTednefs poflefs it here, 
" As makes this life the foretafte of a better !'* 
— Oh ! from what dire extremes this virtue faves 

me ! 
Did I not fay, my Abra, I would win him ? 
Now tell me, Hamct, how thou'lt fave my love ? 

K 2 


^8 A L M E Y D A. 


" The will once fix'd, I do not want the pow'r j" 
" — To me each gate, each dungeon, freely opens 5 
I will prepare a boat, and when the night 
Spreacis her dark mantle o'er a drowfy world, 
I'll thither lead the Prince, and Ihare his flight. 


My guardian angel ! who like him benign, 
Receiv'ft thy fole reward in confcious goodnefs ! 

—If (and my heart forbodes fome new affliction) 
He fhould deceive me — that would afcertain it — 
Hamet, I have confidei 'd — and muft fee him-^ 


The prif 'ner Madam ? 


Ay the Prince Alonzo ? 


You cannot mean it ? 


Never more intently ! 
If thou haft pow'r to free himj thou haft pow'r 
To guide me to his dungeon ! 




Through his guards, 
And many a vaulted lab'rinth long, and lonely, 
How fhould our beauteous fov'reign pafs fecurely ? 


ril dare the chance ! — thy filler's veil fliall hide 
The fplendor of thefe veftments — now begone. 
With circumfpediion plan Alonzo's flight. 
Then hafte, and lead me to him— 


7'ou muft rule 
Yet much I dread this needlefs enterprifc 1 
-—Oh ! fifter^ you've deilroy'd me I 



Heed him not ! 
Ne'er will thy Qiieen defert who truly ferves her 1 
—'Oh ! Abra, in the hour of mortal peril, 
Should'fl thou be born to fuffer like Alnieyda, 
May one as gen'rous as thyfeif arife. 
To fave thee from a pang more keen than dying ! 

IND OF ACT iir. 




jf dark vault irregularly hewn in the rock^ extending out of 
fight on one fide ^ in a vifia of rude imperfeSi pillars.-^— A 
fmall gate leads on the other fide ^ through an enormous crag 

of the rock — Alonzo dif cover" d^ chained to a pillar, 

again/} which he leans. 


HY lingers thus the tyrant exqiiifite 
In ill perhaps he thinks mere death indulgence; 
And therefore leaves me leifure for refleftion — 
An awful paufe, 'twixt life, and immortality ! — 
— Is this the Murcian viflor ? This the heir 
Of great Ramirez ? That Caftilian fun. 
Which rofe to light a nation on to virtue, 
Or early fet amid a crimfon glory ? — 
Eclipf'd at once ; the vi(5lim of his paHlons 
He aids his murderers and but hopes oblivion. — 
' — Long will my father wonder where I vanifh'd ! — 
Almeyda, poor Almeyda's not fo happy ! — 

[Tbe guards unhar the gate^ and light in Ab- 

dallab i then fixing their torches in clefts of 

tie rocky they retire."] 


A L M E Y D A. 7! 


Ere I pronounce my lall refolve, T alk. 
Has folitude reilor'd thy better reafon ? 


Has recolledion humaniz'd thy heart ? 
Why fhould not vh-tue bear as fix'd a tenor. 
As vice can boail ? 


Yet dar'ft thou vaunt it thus ? 
Rafh youth, if thou would'il view the light of 

Or breath untainted air — 


Where are thy ruffians—' 
Doft thou not fee I lefs abhor to die. 
Than poorly to condition with Abdallah ? 
AVhy urge this parley ? 


Thou wert born, Alonzo, 
Thy enennies mull own, to grace the name, 
Tranfmitted thee from a long line of heroes 
Can'ft thou then rafhly fix thy fate, and perifli 
In flow'f of youth— in ignominy — bondage ? 


^2 A L M E Y D A. 


j\y — with a firmnefs thou can'fl: never know, 
WIk) liv'ft in guilt j^^and therefore find'fl in living, 
Only a daily relpite from damnation. 


"What is the mighty facrifice enjoin'd ? 
Why but to yield what thou can'ft ne'er enjoy. 
And bend Almeyda's will to meet her duty. 
Then will thefe chains drop offj and our glad 

In friendfnip fold thee. 


By the light of heav'n ! 
Forever vanifl-x'd from thefe eyes, I fwear, 
I would not yield one chafte figh of Almeyda^ 
To be the worfhip'd of an hoil of traitors I 


Thou haft not weigh'd the agonizing pangs 
My pow'r can make thee fuffer, ere I grant thee 
The comfort of expiring ? 


I have weigh'd 
Thy chara£Jer; and therefore am picpar'd 
For all thy threats imply—— 


A L M E Y D A. 73 

ABDALLAH (Jlamps^ and guards enter 'wiib torches 
and leavers.) 
Employ your leavers 
Raife yon enormous flone — beneath that chafm 
Thro* jagged rocks — imperious — horrible — 
A ftream, oblivious as the fabled Lethe, 
Walhes to many an undifcover'd hollow. 
The vidlimsof my will — 


Thy mercy then 
Spares the foul- harrowing pomp of preparation, 
And all the pangs of nature, and of love ? 


Hark ! hear'fl: thou not in the deep fullen roar 
The knell of death r — Of thofe who've gone before 

Methinks the fliritks refound !— a breath of mlne^ 
Will add Alonzo to the untold many ! 
— Then vainly iliall Almeyda weep thy lofs j 
Ramirez Ihall in vain demand his fon ! 
For, tho' he fhook this fortrefs to the centre, 
Razed its enormous towers, and folid baflions. 
Their ruins would but form the tomb he fought ! 


I have not liv'd fo ill, that I have now 
To learn to die, — and o( Jbdallah tool 

L No 


No, white as angels if thou llood'fl: before me. 
Denouncing thus my doom I could not fear thee. 
How fhould I }WJO ? 


Becaufe thou'rt in my pow'r. 
And I dare ufe it. — Yet again rcfleft. 
But know when next we meet my voice is mortal, 


Be it fo no'iu I — ev'n now 1— -why this difplay 

To the firm foul that never ftirunk from danger ? 

— By heav'n I feel an infant once again. 

When thus infulted with an infant's terrors ! 

— Ye high-arch'd rocks ! to groans alone refound- 

Witnefs cue wretch has never tried your echo — 
— And you, oh ! mofl adored ! who o'er thefe 

Rend heav'n, and earth, with vain, and fond la- 
For him thus ftrangely vanilh'd — never know 
Your feet unconlcious trod Alonzo's grave ! 

ORASMYN (dcfcends with a torch,) 

Dark labyrinth, for murder fitly wrought. 
At length I've reach'd your limit ! — or I err. 
Or this dim light gleams on the haplefs flranger \ 
—His mien bcfpeaks a deep difdain of death. 
With princely graces blended— youth unknown 1 
Dar'rt thou reveal at once, thy rank and name. 
With the dark embafly that thus entombs thee ? 


A L M E Y D A. 75 


Orafmyn ! for I need not alk thy title. 

So well thy port befpeaks the prince and lover ; 

Why would'ft thou know a name like thine le- 

But, oh ! unlike thine, never (lain'd with murder. 


Prince, thou art bound by chains, and I by feeling ! 
— The fun that ripens in a Moor's warm heart 
Ev'n virtue into paffion, ripens there 
Thofe glowing frailties that o'errun the foil. 
And poifon its pure produft — I'd forget 
If poflible the arts that charm'd Almeyda — 


Can'ft thou forbid the bud to blow ? The zephyr 
To wake the bird of fpring ? — As well do this. 
As chill the foul's foft breathings ! difunite 
Hearts, which but new to life, like infant plants 
Entwin'd unconfcious — lived but by each other ! 
Alonzo never knew a guilty thought. 
Or plan'd a guilty union ! — if Almeyda, 
Gave him, oh gift beyond all price 1 her heart, 
Who would not chink it cheaply bought with life? 


Fain would I haie Alonzo ! like a rival 
Fain would I hear tky words, furvey thy adions ! 

L 2 But 

76 • A L M E Y D A. 

But my pure nature does thee noble jufiice! 

Why wilt thou not view me with equal candor ? 

Thou haft Alrneyda's heart — oh bleft pre-emi- 
nence ! 

Outftrip me not too in the race of honor 

To her repofe I facrifice a pafTion 

Strong as thine own — oh! join with me to fave 


Ah ! can'ft thou love with fo fublime a virtue ! 
She lives but to thy fenfes — thou ne'er knew'ft 
The chafte perfeiftion of that gen'rous nature ! 
Ne'er mingled fouls with her, in love as pure 
As the intelligence that angels hold ! 
— That blifs — that agony was mine — mine only ! 
To thee Almeyda feems impetuous, rafh, 
Touch but her heart and it o'erflows with foft- 

nefs 1 
— Orafmyn, if thou lov'il, 'ds thine to prove it. 
— A fearful crifis is at hand — when over 
Oh!! foothe, fupport, confolc, the furrowing angel, 
Proteft her from thy fierce obdurate fire, 
I dare implore thee, from thyfelf prote6t her ! 
— So fhall that mortal hour no being yet 
Encounter'd with indifference, be met 
By me with fortitude ! the long herfeafter 
So fhak thou lefs regret ! — and ev'n Almeyda, 
At length perhaps forget me— • 


A L M E Y D A. 77 


Never — never 
"When the foft fibres of the heart expand. 
And thus enclafp another, time, or fpacc. 
In vain would break the hold, or rrjske us fingkl 
— I fee no more in thee a hated rival ! 
Virtue's own awful form appears before me— • 
Bids me behold a monarch's g-lorious heir I 
The gallant leader of viflorious armies ! 
The idol of whole nations ! — more, oh ! more. 
Her own devoted pupil !-— fhall / then 
Leave thee to dye, and fin againfl: focietv ? 
— Oh my proud foul how it difdains the thought! 
Yet for my father's fake, ere yet I free thee, 
Affure me — — 


Spare thy gen'rous cheek the blufh 
Of afl^ing that unworthy thine own honor, 
J^or lefs unworthy mine ! 


Away with bonds—— 
For, ev'n were "jo-zvs unknown, a noble foul 
Would feel untokl a fellow-fufF'rer's forrows. 
And blend felf-love with focial. — \Yhy, oh ! why 
Were wc born enemies ? 


7^ A L M E Y D A. 

ALOKzo—^f^atcbing his hand. 

Ere yet we were. 
Our finer tones of mind fome guardian fpirit 
Touched into harmony ; and, when we met, 
Th' according firings ftruck forth a found fo fwect, 
That heav'n itfelf might liften ! love I ev'n love. 
That brand of difcord, burns within our bofoms. 
Pale — cold — before the fteady flame of virtue ! 


The camp alone is mine. Once in its diftrids. 
No human pow'r can reach thee. It were wife 
To wait the hour that wafts thee o'er the river. 

[Orasmyn takes the Torch, and guides Alonzo ouL 
Hamet, after a proper int&riial, dejcends^ as light'- 
ing o'uward AhUEYD A, 


We have been fortunate to 'fcape thofe Haves. — 
—Tread careful, madam ; here the ftones are loofe. 

AL ME Y D A — (defc ending, ) 

Thus on the foul breaks love's celeflial light. 
And chears, with many a lengthening ray, mis- 
fortune ! 

HAMET — (Jiofpingy asJhoc¥d), 

— Thefe chains — this filcnce — Oh, unhappy mo- 
ment ! — 



They were the affaflins, then, who e'en now pafs'd 

us ? — 
— For your foul's fake, and as you value reafon, 
Return at once, fweet princefs ! 

ALMEYDA — (-zvavhig him away with/corn). 

Hence, rude man ! 
Wert thou .\bdallah's felf, thou fhould'ft not ftay 

Thus near Alonzo — prithee love reprove him ! 


Alas ! 

ALMEYDA {faintly and alarmed. ) 

Haft thou deceiv'd me — or within. 
Is there fome yet more deep — more dreary den ! 

HAMET (in a broken voice.) 

There is indeed a deeper — where Almeyda, 
Shall never hear her lover !-— 



Never, faid'ft thou ? 
Recall that fearful word ; nor at this crifis 
Pluck from my foul the laft prop that fuftains it ! 

HAMET {jn agony.') 
— Oh ! that I could beguile myfelf, or thee !— 


9o A L M E V D A. 

— Thcfe are the very chains with which I bound 

And this the chafnn (from whence the niais of ftonc 
By leavers has been raif'd) where through the 

Full many a vi6lim to the fears of ftate. 
Precipitated in the rufhing torrent. 
Has fought an unknown grave — 

ALMEYDA (j^fejiftg the chaws to her bofom.') 

Murder'd — loft — 
Wifdom — nor ftrength — nor valour then avail'd 
thee i 


Oh prophet ! fhould fhe dye ! infernal tyrant, 
— To chufe my only abfence for the murder — 
— How is it. Madam I 

ALMEYDA (Jfi d deep tone of defpair.) 

Ev'n as J would have it — 
For that thy kindnefs meant to aid thy Queen 
Take this — Htc has no recompence to give, 

(Loofcns the jewel Ramirez gave her from 
her hofcnit k'ljfes it — wipes her nyes—- 
furveys arid gives rVHAMET.) 
-—Nor ever now will have — begone, and leave me — 
Nor let one human eye pervade a forrow. 
Too mighty for complaint ! 


A L M E Y D A. Si 

HAMET {^foothing her.) 

You will return ? 


Return ? You mean me well, nor ivill I chide—* 
Buc hence at once, and leave me to an anguifh. 
Which would not wafle itfelf in words, or tears. 
But fwell within and wafh away remembrance I 


Oh! Madam, pardon him who dares not leave you* 
Imagine the conje6lures of the worid» 
If here you fhould be found — 


Aly world is vanifh'd ! — ' 
It was concentred in the fpct: he liv'd on, 
And if it yet exifts — 'tis in his grave I 


Think of Abdallah ! — Can you fail to dread him ? 


Who has nought to hope, has little fure to fear— 
— Add not a feather to the weight that prefTes 
Upon this brain, and turns it into chaos ! 
•—Go — Shield thyjelf — and leave me to my fortune [ 
—Why wilt thou urge the parley ? — and awake 
The pride, the paflion — loft — extind- — in horror ? 



82 A L M E Y D A. 


— Yet be advifed — iweec Princefs quit this place ! 

ALMEYDA {prejfmg her forehead vaguely,^ 
Wilt thou then kill me ? 


Rather would I fave 
~Time will dry up thefe tears — reflore your peace 
And make you joy in fafety— — 

ALMEYDA {tuming with horror to the chafm.) 

Look there — look there 1 
Then talk to me of peace, of joy, of fafety, — 


The favage who dares wound his fov'reign's heart. 
Would lacerate each vein of wretched Hamet's-— ^ 
For my fake then, if not thine own, fweet Queen, 
Fly hence ! — 

ALMEYDA (wtth increctfiTig delirium,') 
Say'fi: thou to heav'n ? 


Alas ! alas ! 
Her reafon furely wanders ! hark, I hear him, 
— By all the namclefs agonies you feel ; 
Oh ! pity him, dellroy'd by pitying you I 




Hence — .hence — whoe'er you are — I will not go ! 
But reign forever here ! — fupreme in forrow I 
< — The fun no more fhall vifit thefe fad eyes, 
Nor the wan moon prefent one fofc refle6lion- 

Winter no more (hall chill — or fummer warm me; 
Nor innocence, nor heav'n icfeif fupply. 
One moment of delight ! — but damp, cold, drops. 
Thus petrify my heart ! and night eternal, 

{^Jhivering and looking up.) 
Make vain the fenfe of fight ! — now come, Ab- 

Behold in me Alonzo's monument! 


Abdallah comes indeed ! — his voice refounds— — 
ft grows upon my ear — one chance is mine- 

— Could I regain the clefn that lately hid us. 
He might pafs on— and I, in flight, find fafety ! 

{He treads on the torch and flies haftily.) 

ALMEYDA {in frenzy . ) 

How fuddenly the night fills ! — Oh, my heart ! 
Will no one knit thy loofen'd firings, and (launch 
The vital blood yet flowing ? — yes one hand 
—Ah ! no — Ramirez, v/ill to death abhor 
Almeyda's fatal name ! — 

[Guards light in, and follow Abdallah, 




Are ye all in ?— 
Now clofe rhe gate; that no obtrufive eye. 
No foot unbidden prefs upon my fecrec. 
— So in the gulph with him, at once fliall fink 
All knowledge of his fate ! 

ALMEYDA {majejtically^') 

Who pierces thro* 
The grave's deep filence, with a voice fo loud, 
Ditturbing my repofe ? 


Can it be her ! 
Amazement ! and Alonzo gone ! — Ah ! vain, 
•Is ev'ry guard againft that fubtle fex ! 
'- — She has found fome ready villain to affift her, 
And giv'n the Prince his freedom. — ■ 

ALMEYDA {in a hw anxious voice,") 

Comes Ramirez ? — 
He comes to feek his fon r-^Ah ! haplefs monarch. 
That name to him is nothing ? — yet I'll hide 
Thefe traces from his fight — 

l^She advances wildly , and fearfully looking back, 


How now, Almeyda ? 
This can be only frenzy — wherc's thy lover ? 



ALMEYDA (flaying her hand on his arm.) 

Why doft thou a(k Ramirez ? — he's in Murcia-— 
Did not thy policy diipofe him there. 
When fix'd upon my ruin ? — Wretched Sire ! 

[^draws him afide. 
Fly from this den of death ! — here broods a Ter- 
pen t. 
Fatal to thee, and to thy race I — ev*n now. 
Dozing upon this flinty floor, I dreamt — 
—-Oh ! fuch a dream I fhudder but to name it ! 


What dream Almeyda ? I mufl foothe this tranf- 

If I would learn the truth — 


Nay never frown, 
I fpoke it unawares-— but Arrange, ftrange, vifions. 
Still fwim before thefe eyes ! — yet not Alonzo— 
— Tho' him alone I fought. I came to fave, 
—Too late, alas ! I came. Now thou wilt weep! 
Or is thy brain, like mine, fear'd up in lead ? 

(She leans on the JJoQuider of a guard. 


This is an incident fo Angular, 
As out-runs fancy, and perplexes reafon I 
-—Nature's exhaufted in her ! Some dire truth 
Lurks wnder all this myfl:ery and frenzy. 


8^ A L M E Y D A. 


My lord, behold the chains that bound the flranger. 


And who durft take them off? Alnneyda only ! 
— Yet where then is he vaniQi'd ? Ah ! if grief^ 
At witneffing this woe, fhould have impell'd him 
At once to plunge into this yawning gujph ! 
How is*t, Almeyda ? 

ALMEYDA — ( tuming fondly to him.) 

Heavy — ftrangely heavy ! 
Guide of my youth ! folc partner in its forrows ! 

(kijjing his hand, 


Aftonifhing dclufion ! Where's Alonzo ? 


Did I not tell you of my horrid dream ? 

Sleeping, juft now, upon this flinty floor, 

Kv'n from its folid bafe, I heard Alonzo, 

Amid the rufh of torrents Me he call'd. 

And fliook the deep profound ! My fond heart 
It anfwer'd too — Oh! with fuch eager throbs. 
The long vibrations fpread beyond this frame, 
Almoft into Eternity ! : — 


A L M E Y D A. 87 

ABDALLAH — [exultingly), 

Ev'n fo ! 

Thus have I the advantage, and not guilt, 


Soft ! or Abdallab comes. Not even you, 
Warn'd as you were of all his felfilh views. 
Can gucfs at his barbarity ! An uncle ?- 

Yet thefe dim eyes take pleafure to behold thee ! 

The rav'nous vulture — blood-incited wolf, 

Prey not, when difappointed, on their fpecies i 

That pitch of cruelty was left for man. 

— Nature convulfes at the bare idea. 

Nor dares to fnap the tie herfelf has form'd ! 

■ — He thinks I'll take this tamely ! No, Abdallah, 

I will have fuch revenge ! — From thy black hearc. 

At once I'll pluck away its worldly veil. 

And puniih thee in mere fincerity. 

ABDALLAH (fcVCely,) 

Thou Ihalt not live to do it, fubtle traitrefs ! 
*^ 1 will be warn'd in time — For in thefe fli2:hts 
♦* The foul's deep fenfc full oft may be difcover'd ! 
{Hejurveys wiji fully Almeyda^ the Guards^ 
and the Chafm.) 
" — One moment might efFcdl it ! and that mo- 
*' Inter with her all traces of the deed ! 

** —Further 

88 A L M E Y D A. 

" — Further I'll try her. Wilt thou not forgive 

" Th' involuntary wrong ? 


" Whene'er I do, 
** May Heav*n forget the wretch it now chaftifes \ 


*' Nay, then thou dieft ! nor pray'rs, nor tears, 

" fhall fave thee. 
*' That word decides thy doom ! Seize on her, 

*' Precipitate her inftant down the gulph, 
" And live the favor'd objefts of my bounty ! 


" Oh, that tremendous voice ! — Where fled my 

«' That they acknowledgM not yon ruthlefs favage ? 
** — Him before whom I was born but to tremble ! 
" Slaves, drag me not ! Ye will not murder me ? 
" — Am I not reft of every good but being — 
" A chearkfs being ? Spare thy own remorfe,' 
" Nor crown the pile of thy enormous fins 
** With fuch a helplefs victim ! 


" Vain are pray'rs, 
" I have not ventur'd thus far, to recede I 

" Nought 


« Nought but thy death can now afTure my fafety— 
— VVho'sat the gate? Unbar it not, I charge 
- you. 

Guard, opening the Gate, 
The Prince Orafmyn only. 

Enter Orasmyn. (^Almey da files to him,) 

Oh, protea me ! 
Guard— fave me— hide me in thy ver> heart ! 


'' Ay, while it beats, fweet flutt'rer ! Good my lord. 
What mean thefe haggard flaves, and this con- 

fufion ? 
—How comes Almeyda here ! Why thus afflidled ? 


Born to make vain my cares, and crofs thy fortune, 
Why art thou here ? She, as thou feeft, is frantic. 


j Alia forbid f Speak, dear one !— Calm m.y fears. 
I Ah ! tremble not — but fpeak— 


Alonzo, furely ! 
I hear thee, lovGi but dare not, dare not look.— 





or the vaft hofl of mental ills, ordain'd 
To punilh haplefs man, the worft has feiz'd her! 
Alas ! by my omilTion ! Dear Almeyda, 
Calm thy perturbed foul, and look around ! 
Thy friends alone are near thee. 

ALMEYDA, (Glancing around, Jhe hurieS 
her face in Qrajmyn^s rohe. 

Oh, no ! — no ! 
I fee a fiend, who turns me into marble ! 
— But I am fafe with thee ! Thou ne'er wilt leave 

My own Alonzo ! 


Thus (he ftill has rav'd. — 
" Ev'n now, fhe took me for Ramirez ! Yet 
" Thou mightft improve this blindnefs — if thou'rt 

" Avail thyfelf of her fond fancy's error, 
" And wed her ftraitf 


" Wed her ! Forbid it Alia ! 
" — Were reafon perfe6t in her, this fond clafp 
" I lliould pronounce a blifs more exquifitc, 
" 1 han all in c^ld futurity ! — But now, 
** My heart recoils from her foft touch. 



—Sweet fuflFVer, raife thine eyes ! within this circle 
Give thy woes rcfpite: For, from this fad hour. 
Ne'er (halt thou know another — if this heart. 
This arm, hath pow'r to fave thee ! 


As thou wilt— 
Thou know'ft nay mind ! — Now be the choice 
thine own. [Exit -, Guards follow, 


Oh, moft unguarded ! — Ere I fav'd Alonzo, 
I (hould have warn'd this dear one of my purpoie. 
—-How fhall I now convince her ? Oh ! thofe eyes. 
More beauteous for their wildnefs, how they 

wander ! 
—Hear me, Almeyda ! By the unfullied foul 
Within this bleeding breaft, thy lover lives-— 
—Alonzo lives ! 


Ay ; fo I knew you'd tell me ; 
But fpare the fpecious tale. I know already— 
I heard it from himfelf ! Nay, nay, no more. 


Oh, agony ! for human fenfe too touching! 
Yet how to wake again her recolledtion ? 
Almeyda ! do'ft thou know me ? 



ALMEYDA. (gdztng vaguefy on him, 
I know one, 
One onlyy in the circle of creation. 
And he is llrangely vanilh'd ! 



Yet he lives 1 
In fafety lives. 


Within diis heart, d'ye fay? 
Ay, there he lives, indeed, and fhall for ever ! 


Never can T forgive nriy own neglecl ! 

For, oh, this fight is dreadful ! Yet, Almeyda, 

Thy own Alonzo lives, — like me, to weep. 


Yes J I have heard ftrange tales — ye all have told 

And feen fuch difmal fights ! I dare not fpeak them ! 
— No matter — Time will clear all up. — I'm weary, 


Oh ! let me lead you hence 


Ev'n where you will. 


A L M E Y D A. 9 j 

And by that voice of comfort, you Ihould guide mc 
To my Alonzo's heaven. 


"' Touching charmer ! 
" I dare not iiilen more ; left I, like thee, 
" Grow out of love with reafon, and delight 
*' Only to hear thy rhapfodies ! 

(Jiarting, and looking through the pillars* 


" More dungeons ! 
** Perhaps more murd'rers, too. Now Ihould they 

" Exhaufted as I am, no pow'r could fave me ! 
" Oh ! they have ftrength to wreft one's very 

being ! 
" Look at this arm. (baring her*s» 


" The favage gripe has purpled 
*' The pureft white pulfaiion ever throb'd in ! 

[HeJlartSi and wijl fully Jurveys Almeyda 
and the chajm, 
" It cannot be ! The fear is too tremendous ! 
" Abhorrent Nature, from a deed fo black, 
" Would fhrinkj 'till thefe high rocks, o'erarch'd 

by art, 
" Sink to the centre ! — Oh ! forgive the thought 
'* Thy own ambitious nature prompts, my father ! 



— Reft on me, dear Almeyda ! Near your chambers 
Faithful I'll watch the live-long night, and pray 
It may breathe peace upon you. Pr'ythee lean ! 


Soft ! have a care, we tread not on his grave ! 
Somebody fhew'd it me.— We're very near it. 


Oh ! that fuperior mind is gone for ever ! 
—Yet ftill, thus ruin'd, like a broken mirror. 
It gives a perfed image in each fragment ! 





The magnificent Hall with which the Play opens', and 
fimilar Clouds y Jhewing again the Dawn of Morning, 

Abdallah- enters, finding Orasmyn mufing, 


AST thou thus wacch'd the night away, my 
Regardlefs of the common dues of nature ? 
—The day will come, when thou'lt regret, in vain. 
This lavilh wade alike of health and feeling I 
And why thus ftriflly guard a maniac? 
— Who will aflail Almeyda? 


Who will foothe her ? 
—It is among the fatal rights of rank 
To want all common bleflTings ! Never more, 
Alas I fhall this fweet vifionary find them. 




Has, then, her frenzy known no interval. 
And the long night elapf *d in reftlefs ravings ? 


Th' inventive evil took fuch various forms 
As fancy fcarce could follow — paufing often 
In vacant filence, or in fpecchlefs anguilh ! 
—Anon, more mufical than the lone bird. 
Who pours her furrows to the midnight moon. 
She waked the drowfy night ! Oft the wild ftrain 
Soar'd ev'n to Heav'n — As oft it died away,— ^ 
Like the uncertain fweetnefs of that harp, 
The light breeze foftly touches 1 


Thoughts like thefe. 
Will undermine the firmnefs of thy nature.— 
Orafmynl as thou lov'ft me, fhake them off! 
Thou art the better part of my exiftence ; 
And when thou droop'ft I fink. 


At once to fee. 
The fiow'r of nature in the morning wither! 
Ev'n while my fenfes ached at its perfedion! — 


How wife — how gen'rous were thofe lavifli tears, 


A L M E Y D A. 97 

Could fympathy reflore the hapleis fufF'rer ! 
But other duties call thee into aflion.— 
Time will not with thee w'tch Almeyda's frenzy, 
Nor the great wheel of empire ceafe its motion— 1 
Thy hand muft guide it. 


Empire ! faid my father ? 
• — Shall I ufurp Almeyda's royal feat ? 
Grow great by her misfortune ! Rather bid me 
Dig at her feet the grave fhe wildly calls for. 
And fill it undillionor'd! Oh ! no more. 
I would not underftand you ! 


Say thou wiJt not^ 
And I am anfwer'd. — Weak, romantick boy ! 
Loiter thy life away upon her threfliold ! 
Renounce thy fire, thy rank, thy name in armsj, 
The golden wreath already hov'ring o'er thee. 
And live a lover only ! 


Live to honour ! 
To that quick fenfe, which, ftriking at the heart. 
Damns, ev'n on earth, the guilty ! Oh, beware I 
And dread, in time, to know the dire pulfation ! 


Dar'ft thou fuppofc it ? 


A L I\l E y D A. 


The mere thought was treafon ! 
— Yet, a calamity (6 fudden, fpeaks ' 
Some known, yet latent caufe. 


I heed thee well 
And feel, ungrateful fon ! through ev'ry fibre. 
The yetunfpaken cenfure ! But yet, remember. 
Had I more crimes than thoughtSy 'tis thou haji 

caused them ! 
— Judge, then, what pafles here^ when thus I learn 
Thou dar'fl defpife my views, my pow'r — my 
perfon ! 

[Exit, into the ^eens apartment. 


Stay, leave me not in wrath ! — forgive, my father^^ 
A heart ev'n burfting with conflifting pafllon*! 

•—If I have injur'd ! ' Tis, alas, too much. 

To fhock his nature with the black fulpicion 1 

Enter Abdallah again, 

« — My father, I have err*d ! — Oh ! deign to pity 
Him, who, thus agonizM with doubt and fear. 
Finds no pow'r perfe<5t but unfhaken honour ! 
And that pure pride he'll cherifh, unto death. 
—No vain — no felfilh — no ambitious thought, 


A L M E Y D A. 99 

Shall ever tempt me, ev'n in thought, to wrong- 
That haplefs fov'reign I have fworn to guard ! 
The vow yet lii^es, unchill'd, upon your lips ! 
And, oh, her mis'ry doubly Ihould enforce it! — 
Recal your honour ! — Love me in Almeyda! 


'Tis well. This black ingratitude has fteel'd me ! 
— Cheriih thy infolence of pride — Thou'lt need ite 
Have I, then, liv'd for thee in vain, Orafmyn ? 
— A girly by oae fcfL glance, annihilates 
Thofe rights a liie of fondnefs Ihould have gain'd 

me ! 
—Haft thou forgot thy father heir's Granad*?, 

■ Regardlefs of thy fcruples, or thy choice ? 
— Ev'n now the golden circlet binds my brow. 
And in Abdallah henceforth know thy king ! 
— I have difpos'd the Council to believe. 
Her frenzy conftitutional. This hour, 

. Her hand unconfcious might refign her crown. 
Then never, never, need Ihe fee Granada. 

Enter Nourassin. 


The Council waits, mj lord, your wiih'd-for pre- 

— How fares our haplefs fov'reign ? 


xoo A L M E Y D A. 


Loft in frenzy 
With vacant eye, ev'n now, llie gaz'd upon me. 
But knew nor voice, nor feature ! > 


*Tis too plain 
The malady's habitual ! Thofe ftarts 
Ev'n as we hail'd her glad return, befpoke 
A ftrange diftradtion, or fome buried paffion. 
— Caftile, witli matchlels policy, has kept 
The mournful fecret, 'till, the advantage gain'd. 
With pomp he gave us back the gorgeous cafket^ 
Nor own'd the gem was vanifli'd«— 


Are the Council 

So fatiafied ? 


Not one diffents, my lord, 


Why then fhould we delay the abdication ? 
A form alone is warning j and her hand. 
Unfit to govern, may with eafe be led. 
To delegate that pow'r our laws deny her. 
■ — Perchance, in the next tranfport of her frenzy^ 
No human pow'r may move her. 



A L M E Y D A. joi 


It were wife, 
Since to the nation we muft vouch this truth. 
To lead her forth, and iummon in tiie Council, 


HaftCj thenj nny friend! Condu6t Ahiieyda hither. 

\_Exii Nourajfrn, 


The Council ajjemble round the Canopy of State. Almeyda 
is led on^ 'veiled j fl^e draws the veil at length ajide^ and, 
locking majejilcally around^ fpeaki,': 


When late I clofed thefe lips, 1 fully purpofed. 

Never again to break the awful filence, 

Or view the light of Heav'n, or face of man. — 

Why then am I dragg'd forth, a fpeftacle ? 

What cruel eye would dive into this hearts 

This broken heart, to mark the early ravao-e ? 

— /wither in the fun — chill in the breeze j 

Yet the fun runs his wonted courfe in glory ! 

The vernal breeze invigorates the world ! 

And all the change is here ! (prejfwg her heart. 


102 A L M E Y D A. 

" ABD ALLAH. (JoOthwgly). 

" Lamenting ftill ? 
" Alas! that fuch a beauteous form fhould prove 
" Only the foul's fad fcpulchre! Yet oft, 
" In woman, (mutable in all befidc) 
*' Love fixes ev'n to frenzy ! 

*' ALMEYDA {replying to an imaginary quejlion, 

" Idle queftion ! 
" Why did I love ? As well might you demand, 
" Why I faw light 1 — why waked my foul to know- 
ledge ? 
" hike light — like knowledge, in my infant fenfe, 
" Sunk imperceptible the tender impulfe ! 
*^ — Alonzo firft parcook each little care, 
" And doubled cv'ry joy ! Ah, dear were both, 
" While crowns and fceptres yet were idle play- 
things ! 


" Inventive malady, which wounds yet charms us ! 
*' (afide) There is too much oimethod\n this frenzy. 
" Would I had never trufted the event ! 

" ALMEYDA {appearing to lijteni and trembling. 
*' Hold — hide me ! Save me from this inward 

horror ! 
" — Hark ! hear ye not the murd'rers feet ap- 


A L M E Y D A. 103 

« — That death-devoting voice ! Ev'n now they 

conne — 
" They rufh upon my love ! — Oh ! fpare him, 

fpare him ! ' 

" — Dar'ft thou, inhuman ?— -He's a monarch's 

heir ! 
*' Off, ruffians ! nor profane that gallant form — 
*'*^ Oh ! for a giant's arm, to vvreil him from you !, 
" — A''o'3C', 'no'-JUy the deep rocks echo with his fall, 
" And the rude furge entombs him ! — Oh, Alonzo 1 


" Ever Alonzo ! He is all her cry.- 


<* Recal your erring lenfe, unhappy princefs ! 
" Nor dwell for ever on thefe gloomy ficlions.— 


** Away, away ! — nor venture to confole me 

** — Thou haft not known to blend thy heart with 


" In faith indilToInble, and true paffion 

" /was that wretch— the vifited of Keav'n ! — 
" But, oh ! the dire proportion of my mis'ry ! — 
" — Still muft I feek him on the river's brink : 
" Of feafons— tim.e — of heat — of cold, regardlefs 1 
*' — Or do I err J or does rhe furge return him ? 
" Swoln — maim'd, defac'd ! no charm — no grace 

is left, 

cc Of 

104 A L M E Y D A. 

" OF all fond fancy worfhipp'd. Scarcenayhearfj 

" In this disfigured corfe, can know Alonzo ! 
** — Turn, haplefs father ! turn thine eyes away, 
" Nor trace the dreadful fecret ! Oh> that I, 
" Like yoUj could hope a little while his coming, 
" — Start at his fancied footflep — hear his voice, 
" And die, at lafl, in blefied, bleiTed ignorance ! 


" Markj how this wildnefs fhakes her 1— In fuch 

" She cannot yield the crown. 


*' Yet will we try her. 
— Thofe faithful fubjefts, who but pray'd to pafs. 
Beneath Alnneyda's fway, their years in peace. 
Behold, with grief, the nnalady that lliakes 
Her nobler faculties 3 they fupplicate 
That fhe to abler hands refign her pow'r. 
And in retirennent foothe her foul's foft forrows, 


— Soft ! giive me time to breathe. — A moment's 

{They tender her the Regnlitr^ 
Th' imperial wreath, with which, in one fhort day, 
Thcfe throbbing temples have been overweigh'd, 

i unregretting yield. — Thou gaudy emblem 

{^Laying her hand on the Crcjon, 



Of nature's ample round ! In thy fmall circle 
1/ics all that man defires, and, oh ! much more 
Than man can e*er enjoy, unlefs he finds 
Heav'ns own fupreme delight the blifs of blefling ! 
How haft thou mark'd my fate with endlefs horror ! 
— Hence, from my dim eyes, take the brilliant 

And give the promis'd folitude ! 


Our laws. 
With your own hand, require you to refign it, 
To this your heir. 


To him ! Oh, horrible i 
— Kill me, but Iliew not to my eyes that monfter ! 
— Shakes not the earth beneath his bloody feet ? 
And fleeps in pease the thunder ? 


Alas ! alas ! 
You fee fhe knows me not! 


Oh I would I did not 1 
Is there no help ? Alas, I'm at his mercy 1 
His mercy i faid I ? 'Tis a word he knows not. 

P But 


A L M E Y D A. 

But, pray you, call no murd'rers — I will die. 

Without one ftruggle — only have a grave 
May decently receive me, when my heart 
Completes his crimes, and burfts with this con- 
vulfion ! 


The ftrong necefllty o'er-rules all form ! 

—I muft affume that crown fhe neither knows. 

Duly, to wear or yield ! 


Yet ftay, my lord. 
This is mere malady — She may be won. 


Oh, mem'ry ! thou return'ft in all thy horrors '- 
—Alas I am not mad, but miferable ! 
—Pity this anguifh^ — paufc, oh paufe, one mo- 
ment ? 

And from the fearful heighth where reafon totters, 
Ready to plunge inco the bright obfcure. 
Yet give me leifure flowly to recall her I 
— Awful fupreme, iupport me ! thou who know'ftj 
All I have fuffer'd ! all I yet miiji fuffer ! 
Sufpend this cruel fcnfe of my misfortunes ! 
— Expunge the woman from this bleeding bofomj 
Oh fill it wholly with thofe nobler duties. 
Which fupercede ev'n felf, and awe at once 
Each human grief to filence ! 


A L M E Y D A. ic; 


Wherefore gaze yc ? 
—This is a frenzy equals ev'n her own ! 
*^ — Like the wild fires of the confiiding elements, 
*^ Thdtflajhes of the/oul, oft break the night, 
" The long, long^ night, which falls thus on a 
" maniac." 


Yet hear the Queen, Abdallah — her difcourfe^ 
Sounds not like frenzy ! 


Rather truth y and reafon — • 
— My difmal fate's accomplifh'd ! — Man nor 

Can mitigate its horrors ! — yet for you. 
For you, unvers'd in fuff'ring, ftill I feel — 
Nor dare I delegate the pow'r I hold. 
To him I know incapable of pity — 
— To him, who would perpetuate, and extend. 
The miferies I ever muft groan under ! 

ABDALLAH (in a tran/povt of rage.) 

Fool'd — fool'd at laft ! 'tis well — I have deferv'd it, 
In trufting to a woman — 





Ye, ^vho hear me. 
Know all the merit of this painful effort ! 
— '^OT ycu I yet will live — (or you will reign. 
And tho' my fecret foul (hall feek the grave, 
Ev'n to the hour that gives me to Alonzo, 
Yet Ihall the ling'ring interval be mark'd. 
By many an ad of equity, and honor — 
— I here deliberately impeach Abdallah, 
Of blackeft treafon to his !?.wful fov'reign I 
—To crown his fins a nobler viflim fell ! — 
Oh ! deed too horrible for thought ! — Oh deed ! 
Which ear hath never heard, nor voice yet utter'd ! 


Spare all thy eloquence ! and this recital ! 
-—The evil thou'ft efcap'd, now feizes me. 
And makes my brain, like my wild foul, one 

chaos ! 
•—I do avow the intent, ev'n of that deed, 
Tho' of the fad I'm guiidefs — yet I'll try. 
Thus to defcrve thy charge !— » 


Seize on his fword I 

(be is difarni'd. 



OK^SMVN*e»Urs and 

(drazvs to guard his father^ 

How now ? PrefumptuQus man ! 


Ah! he too here!^ 
For me there is nor juftice then, nor hope ! 

ABDALLAH Cg^Jp i^g OH the Jhoulder of his Jon, 
Orafmyn ! thou hadft nearly loft a father ! 
- — No proud Almeyda ! 
For thee alone I liv'd not ! hadft thou feen 
No more than I intended for thy knowledge. 
Thou hadft been happy ! — happy with Orafmyn ? 
I would have giv'n thee him — my life's beft hope. 
In whom I centre all my pride — my glory ! 
——Yet at this awful crifis of exiftence. 
No more will I diflemble my true motive ! 
— To crown his youthful brow with that bright 

Injurious fortune bade him only look on. 
Has been the fmgle objed of my life ! 


He fcorns the gift— nor thinks he hears a father. 
-^Recall your better felf, and calm this tranfport ! 




This artifice, Orafmyn, is too late — 
—Rather afl like him — own the glorious fin, 
And ftill preferve one merit in thy candour ! 


How ? how have I deferved the bitter taunt ? 
How wrong'd my fov'reign ev'n in fecret thought : 
'* Or dared obtrude one felfifli view before her ? 
" — If in this hour of wildnefs, and confufion> 
'" I joy to fee her renovated reafon, 
" Proud to confirm her pow'r, to guard her 

" perfon, 
« — If this be treafon, purify my heart — 
" — To thee I render gladly up the fword, 
*' Upon whofe point no blood ere yet congeal'd, 
** Save of thy foes 1" 


" Long, long, with glory wear it — 
** — I blulli to have afperPd a foul fo noble.'* 

ABDULLAH (Jcomfully JuYV eying him,) 
Thou traitor to thyjdf\ — my foul difclaims thee ! 
Thou haft foredoom'd thy fire, by bafeiy bowing 
Thus to thy heart's fond minion ! — hence, and 
leave me. 




Ne'er can he err, whofe monitor is virtue ! 
Revere her awful pow'r, v/hich faves at once. 
Thy life my father — fwcet Ahneyda's realbn. 
And ev'n Orafmyn's honour — fly to the gate. 
And guide Alonzo hither — oh recall 
The lajt fond hope that beat within thy heart. 
Ere yet its darling cbjeA vanifh'd from thee ! 

(Gives a rifig to an attendant who departs.') 

ALMEYDA {faijit and trembling,) 

Dread to awake the thought — loft \ loft ! and mur- 
der 'd ! 


The grave itfelf, has render'd up^ ere nov." 
A guiltlefs inmate ! — 


Does my fenfe deceive me ? 
—Is he not dead — repeat that little fentence — 
Let my foul live one moment on the hope, 

And take, each envied enfign of dominion 

— For could I crown thee with the radiant gems. 
That fprinklc o'er the blue expanfe above, 
'Twere recompence too poor ! — bur, oh ! I fear, 
I fear, thou trifled with my heart's fond an- 
guifh ! 

— Drawn 


•—Drawn a gay meteor o'er my gloomy fate. 
Which only fhews its blacknefs I 


" —-To appearance— 


" Appearance, faid'ft thou ? — Think, ere yet again 
" One breath efcape thee, on the verge of being 
" My foul now hovers, and a fingle word 
" May make her quite immortal ! 


If to know 
Alonzo lives, can crown thy days with pleafure. 
Be happy, ever happy ! — for I faved 
The only lover I was born to envy ! 

(^She looks doubtfully J then finks fainting in 
his arms.) 


Thifi is a folly that tranfcends example ! 

—Oh ! for a pang at once to pierce them both ! 


Her life feems gone — foft — bend her gently for- 


And hop'ft thou then, ungrateful boy, to fave her? 




Wake not within my foul a thought fo killing I 
—Call ev'ry aid — 


Forbear the ufelefs trouble — • 
'Tis not in medicine to prolong her being — 
A fubtle poifon fleeps in ev'ry pore. 
And fteals her from herfelf — no human art. 
Can bid her breathe one hour I 

ORASMYN (^throwing himjelfin an agony at her feet,) 

Thou injur'd angel 1 
Could the life-blood congealing in thefe veins. 
Extend thy years, and give thee all thy wilhes i 
Ev'n with the fiercenefs of that fatal favage, 
I dare not call my father, would I galh 
Each purple artery, and urge the current!— 
-~Thou gav'ft me being ! — tho* my foul abhors. 
The tainted blefling ! yet to thee I turn. 
In this tremendous moment ! — hear, and pity ! 
Blot not at once thy honour, nor defame, 
E're yet he foar to gjory, that loved fon. 
Who ne'er till now offended. — 


" Need'ft thou learn, 
*' I do not eafily fix my decrees, 
•' But never know to change them.— 




" Why, Orafmyn, 
** Wilt thou thus plead for the poor life I heed 

" not? 
" — Life, the frail blofibm of eternity ! 
" Which fhrinks and fhivers, in the vernal breeze, 
" And Iheds its purple bloom with ev'ry Ihow'r— 
'*^ Until the ennbryo fruit, arrived at fullnefs, 
'* Shakes its fofc fhelter to the duft ? — Moft happy^ 
•' Who ripen firll ! and quit this mortal coil, 
■*'- Unblighted, and unbroken !*'—- 


" Is is thus, 
** Celeilial fpirit ! thus, thouMft give me comfort ? 
" Oh ! more we need thy example, than thy pre- 

. " cepts ! 
", My father ! have I then no influence with thee r 
Long hafl thou ftudicdmature's baleful fecrets. 
And well thou know'ft their antidotes — 

ABDALLAH {wtth bittemefsJ) 

But thou. 
Again perhaps would'il fcorn the tainted gifi^ 
Again defpife the giver] 


Oh ! my father ! 
To this, how little were the life 1 owe you ! 




I have not been accuftomed to deny thee — • 

(Gives a ring to an attendant^ who goes out,) 

ORASMYN (turning with /oftnefs to Aimeyda.) 

*f How often did I tell thee I had faved him ! 
*' — Ev'n when thy reafon, like a frighted bird, 
** Forfook the home round which it fondly fiUt- 

" ter'd ! 
^' —Yet, oh Aimeyda ! not in vain thou'ft 

" fuffer*d! 
" That fatal paflion which thy beauty caufed, ' 
'^ By all thefe miferies chaftized to friendlhip, 
** Retains its eflence only, and appears, 
** Like the cold luftre of a winter fun, 
^' When all Its glow, and purple vapors faded! 


To her devoted, he nor he irs, nor fees me — 
— Ah 1 Ihould he dare defpife — Oh Mahomet ! 
To be the fcorn of thofe for whom we fin — 
— This, this, is difappointment's confummation* 

(Attendant brings him a goblet) 
Orafmyn, from the memorable hour. 
Thy voice firft hail'd me fire, ev'n unto this 
I've granted all thy pray'rs ! 
The good I wilh myfelf, be thine Aimeyda ! 
I tafte the draught, that thou may 'ft fearlefs 
(hare it ! 



ORASMYN (pre/eating the howl.) 

Oh ! do not hefitate a Tingle moment. 
\" Hardly can I refpire with apprehenfion— 

AL^fEYDA (fainting.) 
" If this be death, how falfely do we fear it ! 
*' Care, pain, and forrow, fade before the calm, 
*' The holy calm o'er-lhadowing ev'ry fenfe! — 
»— Methinks, without a crime, at once to Ycape, 
The dreadful pafl, and all the doubtful future. 
Were to accomplifli early life's great purpofe ! 


Oh ! fparc me all the guilt, the grief, — the horror. 
Live, fweet Almeyda, live, tho' for another ! 


Oh ! that this potent eflence were compounded. 
Of herbs might purify alike the foul. 
And lull it to a deep, a long repofe. — 

{Brinks the antidote. 


Oh, tranfport ! glory ! Oh ! tremendous triumph ! 

Sons may forget, but Mahomet remembers ! 

He has not fcorn'd my pray'r, nor quite renounc'd 

—Prophetic was thy voice j for thou (halt find 
A long repofe indeed ! This was the poifon 



Which I with an indignant pleafure fhared— 

— I had, alas ! no other means to die : 

Nor would I fall inglorious — ^unlamented. — ■ 

— Almeyda, proud Almeyda ! ev'n thy loviy / 

In all the plenitude of rank and beauty. 

Shall grace my obfequies ! and thou, ungrateful \ 

Attend us, a true mourner. 


Speech is loft !— — . 

— A deed like this burfts the great chord of nature. 
And makes rhis gorgeous world but one vaft ruin 1 


Already do I feel the fubtle eiTcnce 
It rages onward, like the fires of Etna, 
And nature withers ere it yet approaches. 

Ah ! fhe too finks. Upon the lip of beauty I 
Mortality now lays his livid finger 1 
— This — This is glorious mifchief! and I joy 
To die, the moment life has loft its value. 


But thus to blend me in fo black a deed — ■ 
— Make 7ne the minifter of my own deftru6tion ! 
Oh ! I have, guiklefs, cropt creation's rofe. 
And fhook its crimfon glories to the duft ! 
—Lift not thofe gracious eyes again to me. 
Thou foft perfedion ! I no more dare meet them. 
—-No, never dare I hope thou ftiouldft forgive 


Th' unparallell'd credulity ! and be- 

Yet, nature, yet thou wring"ft me! 

A B D A L L AH (fiercely Jhaking him off.) 
Hence! begone- 

Fawn on thy minion ! but no more approach 
The fire thou haftdifgrac'd — betray'd — abandon'd! 
— Ev'n as I lov'd thee once, fo now I loathe thee ! 
Oh 1 how I long to fhut out life itfelf. 
Since I with life can fhut out thy remembVance ! 
•—Bear me, 1 pray you, to the Guadalquiver— - 

(turns to the attendants, 
plunge, plunge me in at once ! My liver's cal- 
cined ! 
— Oh, find fome fudden means to quench this fire. 

Ere yet my eye-ftrings crack ! Away, away ! 

{^Abdallah is borne off, 


Yet, yet, he comes not ! Oh ! no more thefe 

Shall dwell delighted on their only objedlj 
Nor this fond heart pronounce its laft adieu ! 

{turns and fees Orajmyn's bitter grief . 
" Take comfort, prince ! — Tho' fmall is my own 

** Yet will I Ihare it with thee ! For thy fire, 
" May Heav'n, like me, forgive him ! 




" Spotlefs vifllm ! 
*^ His vices have cut fhort his being here 
** But, oh ! thy virtues fpeak his future fate. 

ALMEYDA (growhg moi'e weak, 
** Among the many wandVers on this earth, 
*' Few are allow'd to reach the mortal term : 
** And of thofe few, fcarce one expires content. 
** — The mind's deep agonies exhauft each pow'r, 
** And early fit the frame for difTolution 
*< I only feel a numbnefs." Hark ! 1 hear him. 


It is thy love ! Ah, happy he ! to know 
The pangs of forrow only. 

Alonzo (entering.) 

Which gives me once again to fee Almeyda! 
*— And bleft be, too, Orafmyn ! 

ALMEYDA (leaning fondly over him.) 
*Tis thyfelf !— 
My own Alonzo ! — all my foul's fond treafurc t 
•* Thus on the dying eyes of fome lone hermit, 
" O'erhanging angels pour a flood of glory, 
" Ev'n till his foul exhales in extafy I 


120 A L M E Y D A. 


Ah ! why this irjournful fweetnefs r In thine eye 
The living luftre fades ; and on thy cheek 
Each. charm grows wan and hollow ! 

OR A s M Y N (wrmging his hand, ) 

Oh, Alonzo ! 
No more mufl we contend for this rich prize I 
Heav'n claims its own — and we alike mud mourn, 

ALONzo (Jhaking him off.) 
Prince ! if thou'fi done this deed 


Oh ! never think it.— 
Orafmyn*s gen'rous heart is virtue's temple ! 
Alonzo, dear Alonzo ! honour — love him. 
Much wilt thou oweMwci for my mean injuftice, 
— I only ftrove for life till thou wert near. — 
It now evaporates : Hardly fpeech is left me, 
" — I charge ye, ne'er with blood defile the tomb, 
" Which the true tears of both may nobly hallow, 

— And now, indeed, farewel I A hand for each. 

This gives away my crown ; and this, oh ! this. 

The faithful heart that's in it ! 1 am cold i 

And thefe dim eyes feek vainly for Alonzo ! 

Speak to me, love 1 — Oh ! fpeak to me, once 
While yet J know that voice ! 




Loft in a chaos 
Of killing anguiHi, without one exprefiion 
May cafe this laboring heart, how fhall I foothe 

thee ? 
How mitigate thy pain ? 


Tell me you love me— - 
{Lays her head on his handy and dies, 


LoY« you ! Qh, God 1 


(Kiffing and rejigning her hand. 
Words — vows — weak, vain indulgence 1 
Never — oh ! never fhall my foul forget you ! 

{^Both lovers remain mourning near her* 

HAMET {advancing). 

TremendouG moment ! awful paufe of being ! 
—When viewing thus the abdicated frame. 
Where the fond foul had treafur'd all her wifhes. 
How does recoiling Nature feel at once 
Her imperfeAion. Yet fuch fcenes alone 
Can fhew the danger of thofe cherilh'd pafHon.s, 
Which thus can antedate the hour of death. 
Or make exiftence agony I 


To be fpoken in a Crier's Gown, and with a Bell, 

OtEZ! Oyez! Oyez! 

Whereas on demand it doth plainly appear. 

That fome nvicked nuag.^ Od/o ! honu came I here ^ 

What a btundWing is this ! One vjould think I -were blind. 

Here Pm got on before, tuhtn I Jhould be behind. 

■■ Rare 'work, there, my friends ! rare Jlormiug and fury „ 

No Epilogue's coming to-night, I affure you ! 

2ure never poor author like ours has been crofi : 

When meant to be fpoken, J]je found it ivas Icfl, 

Loft, Ma'am, fays the Prompter, all pale at the found ! 

Loft, Ma^am, do you fay ? nuas re-echoed around. — 

Loft — ftcl'n,^^ replied; 'tis in 'vain to deny it i 

So, dear Mr. King, befo good as to cry it. 

The thcught nuas an odd one, you'll fay ^—fo did I : 

But iKihen ladies intreat, ive are bound to comply. 

Cye%! Oyez! Oyez! [Rings the Bell again. 

Be it inonvn, 

To all it concerns. Wit, Critick, or Toivn, 

That ivhoe'er Lrings it hack jh all receive, hefides praife, 

A handfome reward of a cronxjn^ too — of hzys ; 

Whereas, if detain' d, heavy lanu-fuits nxiHl follonu , 

And damage be fued for^ in court of Apollo. 

Rare menaces thefe ! you fee how it fiands — 

She'll indite you all round ', fo up voith your hands, 

Vll examine each face, too In truth, a fine foovj, — 

Whom fir fi fhall I try? Oh! my friends here beloiu. 
The Box claim precedence ; but there Pve my fears j 
Perhaps theyHl demand to be tried by their peers. 
Yet mcthinhs, ix:hen I I'ieiv the fair circle around, 
Pm in hopes they'll not afk for vjhat cannot be found, 



An Epilogue JloVn, cries Old Crujiy, out yonder ! 

[Pointing to the Pit. 
A fine prize, indeed ! nuho Jhould fieal it, I nxjonder ? 
He^furely, mufi be afirange dolt, ma ho contefied 
A hill on ParnaJ/liSffo often protejled. 
Nay, Sirs, 'tis a lofs ; Jo, pray ye, don^t fiout it.--» 
Good or bad, cuftom's all, andiue can^l do without it. 
Yet, in Jearch of our firay , I'll e'en no<w look elfeiuhere. 
there's no ivit in't, Prnfureyfo it cannot be there. 

——Higher up, then • Hey — ivhat Nay, come, Pll not 

'wrong ye. [To the Galleries. 

Not one roguijh face can I fpy out ameng ye j 
But found hearts and found heads, with toa great a fort 
Of mirth in yourfel'ves^ to Jleal from the poor. 
All good men and true. So I give up the caufe. 
And f nee, then, our Bard can't bring you to the laivs, 
Ev'n let her be the Culprit, and fieal — your applaufe. 
Cod fave tht King! 

[Rings the Bell, and exit. 







A Turkifo Village — A Romaniicky Mountainous Conn- 
try beyond iL 

Selim is diJcGvered under ¥ ATiMA.*s Window^ to which 

a Ladder of Silken Ropes is fajiened, 
I Dawn. 

DUET — Selim and Fatima. 


X WILIGHT glimmers o'er the Steep: 

Fatima ! Fatima ! wakeft thou, dear ? 
Grey-eyed Morn begins to peep : 

Fatima ! Fatima ! Selim's here ! 

Here are true-love's cords attaching 

To your window. — Lift 1 Lift ! 

(Fatitna opens the Windoixj.) 
Tati, Deareft ScIim ! I've been watching j 
,\ 2 (Fatima 

& Slue Beard, 

Yes, I fee the filken twill. 
Sel. Down, Down, Down, Down, Down ! 
Down the Ladder gently trip ; 
Pic a pat, pit a pat, — hade thee, dear ! 
Fafi. O ! I'm fure my foot will flip ! 

{Ji'ith one foot cut of the Windoiv.) 
Scl. Fatima!— 
Fati. Well Selim ?— 
Sdl. Do not fear ! 
(She gets Hpoti the Ladder^^-they keep time infinging to her feps as f.-'e 
defends, to^vards the end of the laf line pe reaches the grcur.d and 
they embrace. 

Both. Pit a pat, pit a pat. Pit a pat. 

Pit a pat, pit a pat- --Pat, Pat, Pat. 
(As they embrace, Ibrah:m puts his he ad cut, from the dooroftheHoufe.) 

Ibra. Ah, iraitrels! — Have I caught you ! (comes 
forward) Kii^w.^ttoxMn away with a Man ? — and, not, 
only with a mao, but a Trooper ! — One of the Spahis. 
— Wicked Fatima ! — Much as Mahomet's brood 
muft have incicafed, there isn't one turtle in all our|j 
Prophet's pigcon-houfc, that would'nt be ready t< 
pick at you. In, — in, and repent ! (pufhes her b2t{ 
the houje.) 

Sel. Hear me Ibrahina ! 

lbra> I won't hear you, as I'm a MulTulman ! 

Scl. Credit me to fuppole that 

Ibra. I won't credit any thing, as I'm a True 
Believer ! 

Sel. Did not you promife her to mc in marriage ? 

lira. Um'' — Why, I did fay fomething like 
getting a Licence from the Cadi. 

Sel, And, what has made you break your word ? 

l:ra. A t)etter Bridegroom for my daughter. 

^d. Why better than 1 ? 

BLUE beard; 3 

Ihra, He's richer. — You have your meiits — but 
he's a Bafhaw, with Three Tails. 

8el. Does that make him more deferving ? 

Ibra. To be fure it does, all the world over. 
Throw Riches and Power into rhe fcale, and fimplc 
Merit foon kicks the beam. — Now to cut themacccr 
fhort. You're a very pretty Trooper j fo troop ofT: 
— for Abomeliquc — the great Abomelique, comes, 
this day, to carry my daughter to his magnificent 
"Caftle, and efpoufe her. 

Sel. Abomelique ! — The pefl: of all the neigh- 
bouring country. 

Ibra. Yes— ^ he's by far the beft of all the neigh- 
bouring country. 

Seh Who deals, as all around declare, in fpclls 
and magick. 

Ihra. Aye — You can't fay of him, as they do of 
many great folks, that he's no Conjuror. 

Sel, And you think this man calculated to make 
a good hufband to Fatima ? 

Ihra, Pofitively. 

Sel, Better than I ? 

Ibra, Um — Comparatively. 

Sel, And you now look upon me with contempt ? 

Ibra, Superlatively — 1 do, by the Temple of 
Mecca ! 

Sel. Now, By my injuries old man ! — but I curb 
my juft refentment : — You are the Father of my 
t'atima j — but for my Rival 

Ibra, He is able enough to maintain his own 



SeL .Oh ! he fhall rue the day when, ferpent-likc 
he ftung me. Yes, Abomelique ! — Spire of thy 
wealth and power, — thy, myflick fpeils, and hellifti 
incantations,— a Soldiers vengeance lliail perfue 


Selim»'—lhrahm. — Fatima and Irene, 

Sel. Ruthlefs Tyrant! dread my force ! 

A Soldier's Sabre hangs o'er thee ! 
Thou foon fhalt fall a headlefs corfe. 

Who now wouid'fl tear my love from me. 
Ibra. How prettily, now, he rails ! 

But tisn't fo eafily done as faid 
To fmite a Bafhaw, and cut off the Head 

Of a Man who has got three Tails. 

(Fatima and Irene come from the Hcufe, and kneel to Ibrahim.) 

Fati. & Ire. Turn, turn, my Father ! turn thee hither ! 

A Daughter would thy pity move ! 
Ire. Why doom the opening Rofe to wither ? 
Both. Why blight the early bud of Love? 
Ihra, "J O ! how teizing ! 
Sel. s O ! how trying ! O ! how vexing 

Fati. \ Are the fears which f Fathers , 

■j Lovers ( prove 
*• Daughters J 

How diflreffing ! How perplexing 

Are the cares that wait on Love ! 
Ire. & Fati. tiear me ! Hear me ! 
Ibra. I'll not hear thee ! 
Jre. & Fati. Can you now our fuit refufe ? 
Cheer me ! You alone can cheer me— 
'Tis a wretched, daughter fues. 
Ibra. 'Tis a filly daughter fues. 
j^U. O ! how trying ! Oh ! how vexing ! &c. 



Ire. Dear ! how can you think of marrying my 
Sifter to this Bafhaw ? 

Ikra. And pray, good mifLrefs Irene, with all the 
fubmiffion of a dutiful Father, may I crave to know 
your objeclions ? 

Ire. Why in the firft place, then. Father, he has 
a Blue Beard, 

Ibra. And who, in the name of all the Devils, 
made you a judge of Beards ? 

Ire. Well, I do think it was fent as a punifliment 
to him, on account of all his unfortunate wives. 
■' Ibra. Ha ! now, under favour, I do think that a 
man's wives are punifhment enough, in chemfclves. 
Praifed be the wholefome Law of Mahomet that 
dinted a Turk to only four at a time ! 

Ire. The Bafhaw had never more than one at a 
time ; — and 'tis whifpered that he beheaded the poor 
fouls one after another: — for in fpite of his power 
there's no preventing talking. 

Ibra. That's true, indeed ; — and, if cutting off 
women's heads won't prevent talking, I know of no 
method likely to profper ! — But, I'll make You fi- 
knt, Miftrefs, depend on't. — No riaore of this prate! 

Ire. I have done. Father ! 

Ibra. Piepaie to take up your abude with your 
Sifter, at tihe Caflle. 

Ire. O, 1 am very, very glad I am to be with her ! 
Are not you, Fatima ? 

Fati. I am indeed, Irene. A loved Sifter's prc- 
fence will be a confoiation to me, in my miferies. 



Ibrs. Perhaps I may contnve to go with you, 
too. — If I could bring it about, 1 fhould dwell there 
in all the refpeft due to a relation of the mighty 
Abomelique. Let me once get footing in Old 
Three-Tails Caftle, and I'll tickle up the Slaves for 
a great man's Father-in-Law, I'll warrant me ! — 
Hajk ! — I hear him on the march over the mount- 
ain : — and here are all our neighbours, pouring out of 
their houfes, to fee the procefilon. 

'The Sun rifes gradually. — A March is heard at a great 
dijiance, — Abome l i qu e, and a magnificent train ^ ap^ 
■peary at the top of the Mountain- — They de/cend through 
a winding path : — Sometimes they are lofi to the fights 
to mark the irregularities of the road, The Mujick 
grows Jironger as they approach, — At length, Abo- 
melique's train range themfelves on each fide of the 
Stage, and ftng the Chorus^ as he marches down 
through their ranks, — The Villagers come from their 


Mark his approach with Thunder! Strike on the trembling 
With martial crafli. 
The Cymbals'clafli ; 
'Tis the Bafhaw appeaf^. 

War in his cyc-ball gliAens ! Slave of his lip is Law; 
Our Life, and Death 
Hang on his breaths- 
Hail to the great Balhaw ! 


Ahom. Now, Ibrahim ; — 1 corr.e to claim my 
Bride, — the lovely Fatima. To take this village 
rofe from the obfcure and lowlv (hade, and place her 
in a warmer foil ; where the full Sun of Wealth fhall 
fliine upon her, and add a richer glow to the fweet 
blufh of beauty. 

Ijra^ Moll puilTant Bafhaw ! — I am proud that 
any twig of mine is thought worthy of a place in your 
Shrubbery. — Irene, as you defired, fhall go with Fa- 
tima, as companion. For myielf, mighty Sir, I am 
a tough Stick, fomewhat dry, and a lititle too old, 
j-erhaps, to be moved : — but, to fay the truth, fince 
you are going to take off" my fuckers, if I were to 
be tranfplanted along widi thc^m, I think I fliould 

Ahom. It fhall be order*d To. 
lira. Shall it! — Then, if I don't make fliifc to 
flourifh, cut me down, and make fire-wood of mc. 

Ahom. Be farisfied — you Ihall along with ys 
There fliall not be one countenance on which my 
powe-, and this day's feftival, docs not imprefs a 

SeL That's falfe, by Mahomet ! 

Ahom. How now! — Who dares utter that ? 

Ibra. Hufh I — (Stopping Selhns mouth). He's no- 
body — Only a poor mad Trooper. — You may know 
he's a Trooper by his fwearing. — Beneath your 
mighty notice. 

Abom. What prompts him to this boldnefs ? 

SeL Injury — You have bafely wronged me. 



u4hom. Rafh fool ! — know my power and refpeft 

Sel. When Power is refpeded, it's bafis mufl: be 
Jullice. 'Tis then an edifice that gives the hum- 
ble fh^-lter and they reverence it : — But, 'tis a hated 
fhallow fabrick, that rears itfelf upon oppreffion : — 
tlie breath of the difcontented fwells into a gale 
around it, 'till it totters. 

yJbom. Speak — how are you aggrieved ? 
Fati. Let rr.e inform him. 

Ihra. O, pla:?ue ! — Hold your tongue ! — A wo- 
man always m:ikes bad worfe. 
Ahom, Proceed, fweetFatima! 
Fati. I was poor, and happy ; — for my wilhes 
were lowly as my ftate. — Content and Peace dwelt 
in our Cottage ; — nor were thefe fmiling inmates 
rufilcd, when Love ftole in, and found a (helcer in my 
bofom. My Father placed my hand in this young 
Soldier's, and taught me that our fortunes foon 
fnould be united. — Poor Selim's foul Ipoke in his 
eves, and mine replied, f for true love's eyes are 
CioquentJ that, through my life, I wifhed no other 
proceclor than a brave youth, whofe lot, being hum- 
ble like my ov;n, the more endeaied hi?n to me. 
Our hopes and joys were ripening daily : You 
came, and all are blighted ! (falls in Selim's arms.) 

Mom. Tear them afunder. — Inlulted ! and by 
a Slave that— — — 

(Selim o^'ers to drawjand is rejfraincd hABOMEiiQUL's 



Thou art beneath my notice. — You, Fatima, muft 
to the Caftle.' — Prepare the Palanquin ! {to the At- 
teudants) We are advanced too far, Lady — we can- 
not now recede. 

{A Magnificent Palanquin is Brought in, drawn By Black 


Advance ! 
See us the Bride attending ! 

Echo fhall now the chaunt prolong. 

Torn with a luily Turkifh Song, 
While the Star of the World is afcending. 

(Aeomelique leads Fatima iozvards the Palanquin.) 

Hark to the Drum ! 
Come, Comrades, Come! 
Time will not brook delaying.— 

(AsOMELiQjJEyorcfj Fatima into the Palanquin, i.vho Jlruggks.) 
See fhe refills— her Struggles note ! 

Sel. & Fat. O give me i J-on whom I dote! 

^ ihim] 

Abomeliqjte dra-jos his fahre—all the Slaves draiv. 

Sabres are gleaming round tHe throat 
Of Beauty difobeying. 
\_Exeunt, hurryingoffF x T i m a. I R E azisfeatedivithherinthPalanquitil 

SCENE ir. 

A Hall in Ahomeliqiie's Cafile, 

Enter B e d a , ( with a Guittar. ) 

Beda. Where can he be loitering fo long!-^Why, 

Shacabac ! — Poor melancholy fool ! he's in fome dark 

corner of the Caftlc;, now, — moping, and fighing as 

C ufual 

to tlVE BEARD. 

ufual — This is the hour he (hould come to take hii 
daily lefTon with me on the Guittar. Mufick is the 
only thing that makes him merry. — Why> Shac.v 
hac ! 

JEnt'er Shacabac, (witb a Gmtfar,) 

Shac. Here I am, Beda ! 

Beda. Why, where have you been, all chis time 
Shacabac ? 

Shac. Getting all in readinels for the BaHiaw's re 
ttirn, with his intended Bride. — They fay fhe'sver} 
handfome. — Poor ibul ! — I pity her. {l^alf afide) 

Beda. Pity a woman becaufe fhe is handfome ! — 
Pray, then, keep out of my w^y, for I don't like to 
be pitied. . . ::■• ^i . 

Skhac. Did I fay. Pity? — Oh no — I didn^^t intend 
that — Heigho ! — , 

Beda, Now what can y6u be fighing for ?-— 

Skac. That wasn't fighing. — Tm like our old' 
blind camcl> — a little fhort winded, that's all. 

Beda. I'm fare, Shacabac, you ought to be the 
happieft creature in the Cafile. — The Bafliaw loads 
you with his favours. 

Shac, O, very heavily, indeed ! — I don't difpute 

Beda, You arc his chief attendant ; and he honours 
you with moic employment than all the other flavcs 
p!jt together. 


Shac. Works me like a muie; — it would be un- 
grateful to deny it. 

Beda. And every body thinks that he trufls you 
with all his fecrets. 

Shac. (Alarmed) No ! — Do they think that ? 

Beda. Yes; arkd, to fay tru:h, you keep them 
lock'd up as clofe 

Shac, {ftarting) Lock'd up ! — how 1 — why^ you — 
where fhould I keep them lock'd up ? 

Beda. In your breaft, to be fure. 

Shac. Oh ! — Yes — yes *. — That is if he trufts me 
with any: — but to think that a Balhavv wouki tcli 
his lecrets to a (lave ! — nonfenfe ! 

Beda. Nay, i,t isn't for nothing he takes you to 
talk with him, in private, in the Blue Chamber. 

Shac. (very earnejlly) Don't mention that, Be- 
da ! — Never mention the Blue Chamber again ! 

Beda. Why, what harm is there in the Blue 
Chamber ? 

Shac. None in the world: — but you know I'm 
full of melancholy fancies : — and I never go into 
that Blue Chamber that I don't feel as if 1 Vvcre tor- 
mented with Devils. 

Beda. Mercy! — What Devils, Shacabac? 
Shac. {recovcrivghinifelfi^/miling)On\y)^\\i(i Devils, 
Beda! — Nothing more. Come — Hang Sorrow ! — 
Let's flrikc up a tune, on the Guittar. 

Beda. Aye, that makes you merry, at the worfi: of 

C 2 Shac. 


Shi^.c. That it does, Beda. 


Shacahac and Beda, 


Vcs, Beda,— This, BeJa, when I melancholy grow. 

This linking heart-finking foon cun drive away. 


When hearing founds cheering, then we blythe and jolly 
How do you, while to you, Shacabac, I play? 
Tink, tinka, tinka, tink— the fweet Guittar ftiall cheer 

Clink, clinka, clinka, clink— So gaily let us fing ! 


Tink, tinka, tinka, tink— A pleafurc 'tis to hear you. 
While, neatly, you fweetly, fwectly touch the llring! 

Tink, tinka, SiC. 
Once fighing, fick, dying. Sorrow hanging over me. 

Faint, weary, fad, dreary, on the ground I lay ; 
There moaning, deep groaning, Beda did difcover jne- — 


Strains foothing, Gare fmoothing, I began to play. 
Tink, tinka, tinka, tink,— -the fweet Guittar could cheer 
you : 
Clink, clinka, clinka, clink, fo gaily did I fing ! 


Tink, tinka, tinka, tink,— A plcafure 'twas to hear you. 
While, neatly, You fweetly, fweetly touch'd the llring! 

. Both. 

Tiak^ tinka, &c. 

(A Horn 


(^A Hern is founds d 'u:ithout!) 

Shac. Hark ! — the Horn founds at the Caftlc 
Gate. — The Bafhaw is return'd. 

Beda. And brings his Bride with hinn. I long to 
iee her ! I mult join the red of the (laves prefcntly. 
You know, Shacabac, we are all to kneel, and cry 
** May fhe live long and happy 1" 

Shac. Heaven fend Ihe may ! — Hufh ! The Ba- 
fhaw ! 

Enter Abomelkvtje. 

Ahem. Oh, you are here. 

Shac. To obey your pleafure. Your Slave hum* 
bly trufts that, in preparing for our new Miftrels, 
nothing has been neglecTted. 

Ahom. I commend your care] — and, while the lovely 
Fatima is infpefting he? apartments, J liave employ- 
ment for you. You muH: attend me. 

Shac. Whither, mighty S>? 

Ahom. To the Blue Chamber. 

Shac. The Blue Cha (drops the Guittar) 

Ahom. What ails the driveller ? — 

Shac. No Nothing — nothin";. — That terrible 

found fcts me a (hivering ! (half afide.j 

Abom. What fay you ? 

Shac. I fay the Guittar fell to the ground, and I 
was afraid of it's (hivcrins:. 

Ahem. Attend me. 



Shac, I follov.r. 

(£a7V Ahcmelique^ followed by Shacahstc.) 

Beda. Poor Slaacabac ! what can be the matter 
with him! — Perhaps he has been crofTed in Love — 
and, now I think of it, he niuft have a miftrefs fome 
where — or he never would be fo often alone with me 
without faying one tender thing to me — Ah, Love, 
X^ve ! — I never lliall forget my poor, dear, loft 


His fparkling eyes were dark as jet ; 

Chica, Chica, Chica, Cho. 
Can I my comely Turk forget ?— - 

Oh1 never, never, never, no ! 
Did he not watch 'till Night did fall. 

And fail in filencc on the Sea; 
Did he not climb our fea-girt wall. 

To talk fo lovingly to me ?— 
O ! his fparkling eyes, &c. 

His Lips were of the coral hue. 

His Teeth of ivory fo white; 
But he was hurried from my view. 

Who gave to me fo much delight ! 
And, why fhould tender Lovers part ! 

And why Ihould Fathers cruel be! 
Why bid me banifli from my heart 

A heart fo full of Love for me! 

O! Jiis fparkling eyes, &c (Exit.} 




A Blue Apartment* *" 

A winding Stair -cafe on one fide, — A Large door in the 
middle of the Flat. — Over the door^ a Figure of 
AhomeHqiie^ kneeling in amorous fupplication to a 
heaiitiful woman. — Other Pi^lures, and Devices^ on 
SuhjeEls of Love, decorate the Apartment, 
Aeomelique and Shacabac defend the Stair. 
(Sh AC ABAC in apparent terror.) 
Ahom. You know my purpofe. 
Shac. I guefs ir. 
Ahom. Why do you tremble ? 
Shac. The air of this Apartment chills me: — 
and the bufiners we are going upon isn't the befl: to 
infpire courage. 

Ahom. Fool! — When this myfterious Portal (hall 
be open'd, vshat haft thou to dread ? 

Shac. Oh, nothing at all. The inhabitants of the 
inner apartment might terrify a man of tender 
nerves ;- — but what are they to me r — Only a few fly- 
ing Phantoms, fhceted Spedres, (kipping Skeletons, 
and gjinning Ghofts at their gambols : — and as to 
thole who had once the honour to be your wives,-— 
poor fouls \ — they are harmlefs enough, now, what- 
ever they might have been formerly. 

Ahom. Twas to prevent the harm with which 


* The Dialogue of this Scene has undergone fome alteration, 
fince it was iiril reprefented : by which means the Blue Apart- 
ment isnot fhewn 'till the Second Afl. The Au:hor> however, 
prefers printing it as it wai originally written. 


their condu(5l threaten 'd mej that they have fufjei'd. 
Thv'?ir crimes were on their heads. 

Sbac. Then their Crimes were as cleanly taken off 
their flioulders as Scymetar could carry them. — 
Thr.t Curiofuy fhoiild cod fo much ! — If all women 
were to foifeit their heads for being inquifitive, what 
a number of fweet, pretty, female faces we fliould 
lofe in the world 1 

jibcm. Such punilhment might outrun even Tur- 
kifh jLi(lice~but m me, 'tis prudence; Selfpre- 
fcrvation. — You are not ignorant of the prediction. 

Shac. That it is your face co marry, and your Life 
will be endangered by the Curiofity of the woman 
whom you efpoufe. 

Jbom. Thou haft the fecret. Dare not to breathe • 
it, or ' 

^kac. Don't look fo terrible then, — for, if you 
fcaie away my fenfes, who knows but the feeret may'' 
pop out along with them. 

Ahom. Well, I know thou darefl not utter ir. The" 
mvf^ick cerem.onies, in which, from mere necelTity, 
I have employ'd thee — thou weak and unapt agent — 
bear in them a fupernaiural force, fettering thy ton- 
gue in fil.nce. (gives him a Key decorated with Jcajels) 
Take the Key : apply it to the door. 

Shac. Yes, I — but I was always from a b( y, the 
mere II bungler at a Lock that • 

Abom. Datlard! — ihou know'it how readily 'twiil 


^hp.c. But mult I onee more open it tc— ■ 



Ahom. Be fpeedy ! This Talifman mull, ere mv 
marriage rites are folemnized, be placed withm the 
Tomb of thofc vvhofe raHinefs has laid them cold 
beneath the icy hand of Death. 

Shac. Me.'cv on Ui !— Iknow not for the icy hand 
of-Dearh :-But if Feav would do me the favour to 
keep his chilly .paws off me, I (hould be much war- 
mer than I am at prefenr. 
Abora. No dalljing. 
Shac. I obey. — 
Shacabac puts the Key into the Lock ; the Dnor h> 
■Jlantly finks, with a tremendous crajh : and the Blue 
Chamber ap-pears fireaked with vivid fireams cf 
Blood. The figures in the Figure, over the doer, 
change their pofition, and AsoMELiriu e is reprefented 
in the a^ion ofi beheading the Beauty he was, before, 
fupplicating.— lhe Piclures, and Devices, ofi Love, 
change to fiubje^s ofi Horror and Death. The inte> 
rior apartment (which the finking ofi the door difico- 
versj exhibits various Tombs, in a fiepulchral build- 
ing ;— in the midfi ofi which gkafily and fiupernatural 
fiorms are [ecu -—fiome in motion, fome fix'd~h the 
centre, is a large Skeleton fieated on a tomb, (with 
« Dart in his hand) and, over his head, in chara^ers 
ofi Blood, is written 

Aborn, Thou fceft yon fleflilefs form. 
{pointing to the Skeleton,) 
SJjac. O, yes!— and my own flelh crawls when- 
ever I look upon him. (giving Abomeitque the Key.) 
^ Ahom, 


Ahotn. Henceforward he mufl be my d'eftiny. Ds- 
mon of Blood \-^addreJfjng the Skeleton) Death^s 
Courier ! — whofe fport it it to found War's Clari- 
on; — to whet the knife of Suicide! — to lead the 
hired Murderer to the Sleeping Babe ; and, with 
a ghaftly frnile of triumph, to regifter the Slaughter'd, 
who prematurely drop in Nature's Charnel-houfe j — 
here, here have I pent thee ! — A prifoner to my 
Art, — here — to circumfcribe thy general purpofes, 
for my particular good — twelve winters have I 
kept thee 1 

8ha£. Have you ! — Allah preferve us ! — but I 
muft lay that, coafidering the time, he looks fo lean- 
that he does his keeper no credit. 

Ahem. Approach him with refpcdt. 

Shac. Who, 1 1 — rd rather keep at a refpedfu-l 

Jhcm. Take this Talifma-n. 

Sine. ' ris a Dagger. 

Abom. 'Tis a charmed one. While it remains 

beneath the foot of tliat fame ghaftly form, I am 

(i-^f^ from mortal po.\er. Another hand than mine 

muft place it the e. Thou muft perform the- office. 

{Gives him the talisman.) 

Shac. Muft I ! — well — I — '^approaching the figure^ 
O, MahomeJ — H ever 1 get away fafe from this who has jumped out of his Skin, I ftiall 
jump out of my own, for joy ! — 


BLUE beard: 19 

S'HACABAC lays the Dagger at the foot of the Skele- 
ton. — It Thunders and Lightens violently. The in- 
fcriptionj over the Skeleton s head, chaoses to the fol- 
lowing— ' 
''this sepulchre shall inclose her who 


The Skeleton raifes his arm which holds the Dart ; 
then lets his arm fall again . Shacabac ji aggers from 
the SeptdchrCy into the Blue Chamber , and falls on his 
face-y when tk^ Door^ infiantly rifng, clofes the in- 
terior hdlding." — The freaks of blood vaniJJi from the 
%valls of the Blue Chamber ^ and Aeomelique's P/i-- 
turCy with the other Pidlures, and Devices^ refume 
their original appearance. 
Ahom. It omens profperoufly ! This Sepulchre Hiall 

inclofe Her who may endanger the Life of Abome- 

lique — Her death then Is the penalty of her ralhnefs. 

May Fatima be prudent, and avoid it. ■ Roufe thee, 

dull fool !— Thy T^Qc is ended : arife, and follovv 

me hence; 

Shac. That I will, if my Legs have power to carry 

me. (getting up) 

Ahom. Hark! — I hear a foot in yonder gallery : — 

Afieendthe Stairs with me, in filcnce. Chattering will 

coft thy Life. 
Shac. Then I am furcyou mud pull out my teeths 
D2 for 


for they chatter in fpite of me. {^Abomelique makes 
afign tohim tofcUoiv) I attend ! — 

{They afcend the Stair-cafe, and the Scene clofes.) 


An Apartment in the Co file. — Enter Fatima (7;;^/ Irene. 

he, Prythee, deareft fifter, take comfort. 

Fati, Where fliall I find it ? Torn fiom the man I 
love, and forced into the arms of one whom I, and 
nil around, deteft, where fhould I look for comfert ! 
My waking thoughts arc torments j and, fince this 
marriage was propofed, m.y very dreams have fore- 
boded mifery. 



While, fcnfive, i thought on my Love, 
The Moon, on the Mountain, was bright ; 
And Philomel, uown in the grove. 
Broke, fwectly, the filence of Night. 

O, I wifh'd that the tear-drop would P.o\r I 
But I felt tco much anguifli to weep ; 
'Till, worn with the weight of my woe, 
I funk on my pillow, to fleep. 

Mcthought thr.t my Love, as I lay. 
His ringljets all clotted with gore, 
Li the palenefs of Death, feem'd to fay, 
" Alas ! wc mull; never meet more!" 

" Yes, yes, my Beloved !,we muft part;" 
*' The Steel of my Rival was true ;--- 
" The Aflaflin \vah ftruck on tliat heart," 
" Which beat with fuch fervour for you." 




//V. Why, to be fure, 'tis a fad thing to lole Sc- 
lim. — He is a good youth. — And we wonsen have, 
fomehow, fuch a pleafure in looking at a good young 
man, when he happens to be very handfome ! Yef 
the Bailiaw, bating h'ls Beard, ifn't fo very ugly 
neither. Then, you know, he rolls in riches. 

Fati. He abufes them, Irene. Vv eakh, when it's 
purpofc is perverted, makes the pofieflor odious. 
When virtuous men have gold they purchafc their 
own happinefs, by making others happy: — Heap 
treafu.e on the vicious, they ftrengthen their injuflice 
with the fweet means of Charity, and turn the pcor 
man's blefling to a curie, 

Ire, Well now it's a great pity you happen'd to 
love Selim firft. Who knows but the Bafhaw may 
turn out good to us, after all. See what fine cloaths 
he has given us already. 

FalL Alas, my filter ! thefe gay com- 
municate no pleafure to an aching heart. 

Ire, Iwifh they could fee us in them, in our village, 
for ail that. Then we are to have a fine fcaft, to- 
night, in honour of your nuptials, which are to take 
place to-morrow. 

Enier Shacaeac. 

Sbac. Madam, the Balhaw waits, to attend you, 
to the illuminated Garden. 

Ire. There— the illuminated Garden ! I told you 



Faii. I attend him. Come, Sifler. 

(Exeunt Fdtima and Irene. ^ 

Shac. Poor foul ! mud Ihe be facrificed, too, to 
tlie Bafliaw's cruelty ! His favage fpirit fettles all 
family difputes with the edge of the Scymetar. 


A Fond Hufijand, will, after a conjugal Strife, 
Kifs, forgive, weep, and fall on the neck of his Wife. 
But Abomelique's wife other condud may dread- 
When he falls on her Neck, 'tis to cut otFher head. 

How many there are, when a Wife plays the fool. 
Will argue the point with her, calmly, and cool ; 
The Bafhaw, who don't relilh debates of this fort. 
Cuts the Woman, as well as the Argument, fhort. 

But, whatever her errors, 'tis mighty unfair 
To cut off her Head, juii as if twere all Hair ;— - 
For, this truth is maintain'd by Philofophers ftill,--- 
That the Hair grows again, but the Head never will. 
And, among all the bafeft, fure he is moft bafe. 
Who can view, then demolifli, a Woman's fweet face ! 
Her fmiles might the malice of Devils difarm; 
And the Devil take Him who would offer her harm ! 

[Ex if. 




.-? Garden — brilliantly and fancifully illuminated — A 
Fountain playing in the middle of it — An elevated Sofa 
iiH one fide ^ under a rich Canopy. 

CERS — otJws with Mujical inflniments — They all ap- 
pear as preparing for an entertainment, 

B E D A /j foremofl among them . 

Enter Ibrahim. 

lira. That's right ! You poor abominable Devils, 
who have the happinefs to be Slaves to my Son-in- 
la.v, that's right ! Thrum you guittars, pufF your 
trumpets, and blow your flutes, in honour of your 
new Miilrefs, my daughter. Come here you long 
winded dog! — (/o a fai'e with a trumpet) Tell me 
VI' ho 1 am. 

Slave. You are old Ibrahim. 

3ra. Old Ibrahim ! — Thefe Slaves are remarka- 
bly free ! — I am the Father of the Lady who is to be 
Wife of the Man, who is the Mafter of you. — 
What a fine thing it is to be Father-in-law to Three 
Tails ! — [Sees Beda) O, dear ! there's a pretty black* 
eyed girl ! — Come here, and tell me your name. 

Beda, My name is Beda, fo pleafe you ! 

Ihra. Beda, is it ? — Why you little Devil, you're 
an Angel. 

Bed.i. Oh no. Sir, — I'm only one of th,e family. 

lira. Then give me a family kifs. — 




Beda. Dear! if theBafhaw (hould lee you ! 

Ihrc. Then he'd fay you have a good tafte.— 
Cheer up, httle one ! — I rule the roall: here. — I. 
fnan't go worfe with you that I have power, and you 
have charms. It's amazing, when Beauty pleads 
with a Great Man, how much quicker it rifes to 
promotion than ugly* faced merit. — (^A FlouriJJi of 
Miijick zvithcut) Silence ! Here comes the greet 
Abomeliquc ! — Son-in-Law to me, who am the 
Father to the Lady, who is to marry the man, that 
is mafi-er to you. — Stand afide! — be ready — Strain 
your throats, kick your heels, and Ihevv obedience. 

Abomelique enters with Fatima, Irene accompa- 
nying them, Abomilique and Fatima feat them- 
jches under the Canopy. 



Lowly we benJ in Duty. 

Queen of the peaceful Bowers ! 
We bow to the foot-fteps of beauty : 

And Hrew her path with flowers. 
The mellow flute is blowing, 

Eounce goes the Tambourin ; , 

Sweet harmony is flowing. 

To welcome Beauty's Qu»eH. 



ACT 11. 



A Company OF Spa HIS (or TurkiJJi Soldiers) dif* 
cover d in ambtiJJi. 


STAND clofe '.—Our Comrade is not come : 

Ere this, he mull be hovering near ;— 

Give him a Signal we are here. 
By gently tapping on the Drum. 

Rub, Dub, Dub. 
A Comrade's wrong'd : Revenge Ihall work : 
Thus, till our projeft's ripe, we lurk ; — 

And ftill, to mark that we are here, 

Vet not alarm the diftant car. 

With caution, ever and anon. 

The Drum we gently tap upon. 
Rub, Dub, Dub. 

E ift 


iR. Spa. Selim tarries long. 

Id Spa. Difappointed Love is a heavy luggag'e ; 
— and he who travels with it generally proceeds 

3d Spa. Not when the hope ofredrefs is pack'd 
lip with his difappointaients : and Revenge has 
long fpurs to quicken a dull motion. — Were 
you ever in love, Comrade ? fto a Jiillen rough look- 
ing companion.) 

4th Spa. (''oery gruffly) I once knew the tender; 

3d Spa. Were yoit fuceefsful when you adored .'' 

4th Spa. Um I — Why the chances were againl^ 

3d Spa. How fo ? 

4lh Spa. I adored eleven, and obtained but five, 
— 'Twas hard, for a man who was fo conllant 

1 It Spa. Well, we are all Soldiers. War is the 
miilrefs I perfue. 

2d Spa^ You muft take pains to keep fight of 
her, for you have loll on€ eye in her fervice al- 

ith Spa. Wounds of honour, brother, form the 
Warrior's proud ell: Epitaph. My lofs perhaps may 
live in ftory. 

4th Spa. It muft live in a blind ftory, then, if it 
live at all, brother. 

3d Spa, Come, no more of this. 



1 ft Spa. Nay, let them proceed. They are only In rj)on. 

My Comrades know that the breath of a few ribald 

jeilers can never wither the laurels a Soldier gains 

in proteaing his Country.— Look out !— Here 

-comes Selini ! — 

Enter Selim. 

2d Spa. Well met.— We have been a full hour 
at our poft, here. 

SeL Your pardon. The entanglements of the 
Wood retarded my progress. 

SdSpa, Now, Comrade :~The time's at'hand 
when we will redrefs you . 

SeL I know your zeal. A Spahi never permits 
a brother's injuries to remain unreveno-ed. 

4th Spa. We'll feize upon Blue-Beard, and dry- 
fhave him with a two-edged Scymetar. 

SeL If it be expedient to attack the Cadle, be 
cautious, friends, in the procedure. My Fatima, 
clfe, may fall in theconfufion. 
^ 2d Spa. Fear not that.— We'll crack the walls 
Jike a nut-Oiell, and extraa your miftrefs, fafe and 
found, hke the kernel. 

4th Spa. Our Horfes ftand a few paces hence 
Let us mount, and away ! 

SeL We will, my Comrades !— We have fome 
diftance yet to ride, ere we reach the domain o^' 
AbomelH^ue. Prepare,-!*!! follow, inllantly.- 
1 hanks foryouf aid. 

i^Spa. Nay, we want no thanks. Men are 

wuvorthy offuccour in their own time of need, 

^ ^ who 


who will not be aftive to relieve the fufferings of 
their fellows. — March, Comrades ! 

[Exeunt Spahis. 
Sel. Now, Fortune ! Smile upon a Soldier's ho- 
neftlove, ftruggling to refcue injured virtue from, 



Hear me, O Fortune, hear me ! 

Thy aid, O let me prove! 
Now in this ftruggle cheer me. 

And crown the hopes of Love ! 

Then Vice no more fhall revel jr— 

Yes, Tyrant, we fhall meet : 
A Soldier's Sword fhall level 

OpprefTion at my feet, [Exit. 


An Jpartment in Abcmeliques Caftle. 

Enter Abomjelique, Fatima, and Shacabac. 

Abom. Yes, Fatinia ; bufinefs of import calls 
me. — for a few hours I leave you. Soon as the Sun 
flopes through the azure vault of Heaven, to kifs 
the mountain's top, and Evening's lengthen'd flia- 
dows forerun the dew-drops of the night, then 
look for my return. Then fball our marr'age be 


Fat. Alas ! — if ever pity • 




Ahom. No more of this — Off with this maiden 
CO) nefs : — And, in my abfencc, be gay and jo- 
cund. This Caftle can afford diveiTion, Lady. Rove 
freely through it. — Here are the keys 

Shac. [involuntarily interrupting) What all the ke\-s? 

Abom. Peace, Slave ! Infpeft the rich Apar'- 
ments. Thefe open every door : — This Slave, here* 
jliall condu6l vou — But, with them, take this cau- 

Fati. A Caution ! 

Abonv. Yes : this Key, fparkling with diamonds, 
opens a door withjn the blue apartment, 

Shac, {/ighing) Oh ! 

Abom. Th^t Door, and that alone^ — is facred* 
Dare to open it, and the moft dreadful puniflimcnt 
that tongue can utter will await you. 

(Here Shacabac gives Abomelique a look of fuppli- 

cation for Fati ma, and is repelled by a ferocious 

frozvnfrom his Master.^ 
it is the fole reflraint I ever fhall impofe. In all 
elfc you have ample fcope. — Merit my indulgence, 
and tremble to abufe it. {gives the Keys) 

Fati. I tremble now, to hear your words, and 
mark your mknner. 
Shac. [a fide) So do I, I'm fv:rc! 

Fati. if this Key be of fuch Import, 'twere beft 
not truft it to my keeping. 

Shac. Oh, much the beft. — Prny take it again ! 
! — Pr^y do ! [anxioujly) 



j£?om. Be dumb! — No, Fatima. — A Wife were 
unworthy of my love, could I not confide in her , 
difcretion. — Prove I may truft in your's implicitly. J 
— Follow me, Slave, to the Caflle gate j — then 
haften back to attend your miftrefs. 

S/iac. Yes, I Pray then don't llir from here 

till I come, Lady ! — If the poar foul fliould get to 
the Blue Chamber before I return, and (ajide) 

Abom. Farewell, Fatima ! — Come on. \Exit. 

Shac^ I come Oh I — (firfi looks at Fatima^ 

ihen at his Majier, between anxiety for the one and ter- 
ror of the other : — Then Exit, after Aromelique.J 

Fail. What can this mean .^ — F^is ferocious look, 
as he pronounced the folemn charge, ftruck horror 
through me ! — The countenance, too, of the trcm, 
blins: Slave was mark'd with m\fterv' 

Enter Irene, 

Ire. So, Siacrl — The Bafl^aw 5s going, I hear, 
'till the evening. — What are tliofe keys in your 
hand ? 

Fall. They open every door v^'ithin the walls. — 
Abomelique has left them with me, that wc may 
wander through the Caflle. 

Ire. Well, now, that is very kind of him. 

Fati. I have no joy, nov/, Irene, in obferving 
the idle glitter, and luxury of wealth. 

Ire Haven't you ? — but I have. We'll have a rare 
rummage ! — I won't leave a fmglcnook, nor corner, 



Fdti. That mufl not be. There is one room we 
are forbidden to enter. 

Ire. A forbidden Room ! — Dear, now, I had ra- 
ther fee that room than any other in the Caftle ! 
Did the Balliaw forbid us ? 

Fati. He did ; — •nnd with an cmphafis fo earnell, 
a manner fo impreffive, that he has taught me a fa- 
tal confcquence would wait on difobedience. 

Ire. Mercy ! — How I do long to fee that room ! 
— Do let me juft look at the key. 

Fat 2, Beware, Irene ! (Jliezving her the key.) 

he. Dear, there can be no harm in looking at ^ 
key. — What, is this it ? — Well, it is a monftrous 
fine one, I declare ! Dear Fati ma ! how pretty it 
would be jufi: to take one peep } 

Fati. Tempt rae not to a breach of faith, Itene. 
When wc betray the confidence repofed in us, 
to gratify our curiofity, a crime is coupled to a 
failing, and we employ a vice to Iced a weaknefs. 
— The door within the blue apartment mufl remain 

Ire. Well, I have done : — but we may fee the 
reft of the rooms, I fuppofe ? 

Fati. If that can pleafe you. Sifter, I will ac- 
company you. 

Ire. That's my good, kind Fatima ! — If I could 
hut get her by degrees to this Blue Apartmem ! 
(AJide.) Come ;— we'll go, and look over the 
Caftl<^. — I faw fome rich drcffes, in a wardrobe, at 



the end of the gallery, that would have fuitcd me 
niceJ}, in the dance laft night. 



Moving to the melody of mufick's note, 

Obfcrve the Turkilh fair advance. 
Lightly as the Goffamer fhe feems to float. 
Thro' mazes of the Dance. 
Sportive is the meafure. 
Thrilling is the pleafure. 
While in merry glee, the Sexes join ; 
Deeper-blufliing rofes, 
Ev'ry cheek difclofes. 
Eyes with Luftre ftine. 

Moving to the melody, &c. 

When the lover takes her glowing hand. 

With manly grace and eafe , 
Can the dancing female, then, withftand 

His gentle fqueeze ? 
No— She gives him then To languifhing a glance^ 
Crown tender, foft, and melting with the dance. 
Cupid, Cupid-~God of hearts, 
L. . . Dancing Iharpens all your darts ! 

Moving to the melody, &c. [Exeunt. 


/Another j^partment in Abomelique's Cajil^. 
' Enter Ibrahim, rwifttn^ after Bed a. 
Ibra, Come here you little Skipping jade, and let 




n:e look at you ! — (takes, hold of her.) Tell mc now. 
Don't you think you are very pretty ? 

Beda. I am fuch as Nature made me, Sir. 

Ura. Nature has been very kind to you, hufley 1 
She has given you two black eyes. 

Beda. That w^asn't fo very kind of her. Sir. 

]ha. Don't you know I am made Major Domo f 

Beda, Yes. — ^The Bafliaw has given you the 
command, it feems, over the flaves, 

Ibra. Then obey me. 

Beda. How, Sir? 

Ibra. How r — Why — Shew me your teeth, 

Beda. My teeth ? 

Ibra. Yes. — Giggle.— (Beda laughs.) O, Maho- 
met ! — There's ivory ! — She has a handfomer mouth 
r: than an elephant !— Where were you born, child ? 

Beda. In Conftantinople, Sir. My poor mother 
was carried off with a plague, there. My father 
had it at the fame time. 

Ibra. Did it kill him, then ? 

Beda. No, Sir : — he was very bad with it:— but 
^ when my mother died^ 

Ibra. Then your Father got rid of his Plague. 

Beda. Yes, Sir. 

Ibra. I don't doubt it. And, how came you a 
flave ? 

Beda. O, that's a very long ftory. 
. IbM. Don't tell it, then. We've no need of long 
F ftories. 


ftorlcs, while there's opium m Turkey -.—But I'll 
lighten the load of your bondage. 

Beda. Will you, indeed, Sir? 

Ibra. Yes.— I am a true Turkifli lover.— And 
know all the amorous phrafeology of our Country. 

You ihall be the Nutmeg of my affeftions, my 

AU-fpice of delight. When I meet you in the 
grove of Nightingales, let not your eyes be dif- 
dainful as the Stag's.— There !— Now, go ^and 
tell Muftapha to mend the hole the rat gnaw'd in 
my flipper laft night !— in that damn'd cock-loft 
my fon-in-law crams me into, by way of a bed- 

Beda. Am I to go now. Sir ? 

Ihra. Aye.— Stay !— Give me a kifs firft.— What 
you are loth to take it ? 

Beda. O, Sir, we Haves' muft take any thing. 

{He kiffes her.) 

Ibra. Adieu !— Crown of my head ! 
B^da. Good bye. Sir !— An old dotard ! 

\EKit Beda, 

Ibra. My fortune's made ! Abomelique marries 
my daughter to-night, and puts me into power, be- 
caufe he can't help it. 





Major Demo am I 

Of this grand Family ; 
My word through the Caftle prevails : 

I'm appointed the Head 

That muft keep up the dread. 
And the pomp, of my Son-in-Laws Tails- 

I llrut asfine as any Macaw, 

I'll change for down my bed of lira w. 

On perquifitcs I lay my paw, 

I pour wine, flily, down my maw, 

I fluff good viftuals in my craw, 
*Tis a very fine thing to be Father-in-Law 
To a very magnificent three tail'd Bafhaw ! 


The Slaves, black and white. 

Of each Sex own my might ; 
I command full three hundred and ten. 

The Females I'll kifs. 

But it won't be amifs 
To fright them, with thumping the Men, 

I flrut as fine &c. 


At the Head of Affairs, 

Turn me out, then who dares.— 
Let them prove the Head pilfers and fteals : 

No three tall'd Bafhaw 

Kicks his Father-in-Law, 
And makes his Head take to l^is Hee^s. 

I Arut as fine &c, [Exit Ib r a h i m. 


^6 ]!LUE BEAI^D. 


T/ie Blue Apartment. 

Fatima and Irene are difcovered on the Top of the 

Fati, I am tired, already, with the fearch we 
have made, Irene. 

Irt. O, I could never be tired with fuch fine 
things as we have feen ! — Do, now, juft come down 
the flair, and walk through this wing of the build- 
, ^Fati. Well, I . 

Ire. Aye, npw, that's a fweet, good-natured 
filler ! — [they dejcendthejlair.') — Now here's a pretty 
room ! — All furniili'd with Blue, I fee. 

Fati. With Blue I — *tis the very cliamber we 
were caution'd to avoid. Imprudent girl ! — Whi- 
ther have you led me? Halte^ hafte, Irene, and let 
us leave it inllantly. 

Ir$. Dear ! where's the hurry ?— -I'm fure 'tis a 
very pretty room: — Befides,.'tis only the door in 
this room, which leads to another, you know, that 
you were bid not to touch. 

Fati. No matter: 'Tis rafli to tarry. Cur being 
here may excite fufpicion. 

Ire. Sufpicion ! — Why, we have no bad purpofe ; 
— And, even, if we were to open the door — and 
there it ftands, as if it Teemed to invite the very 



key in your hand to come and unlock it — Why I 
fee no fuch great crime in the a6lion. 

Fati. The Baihaw's charge, Irene 

Ire. Is a very ill-natured one. And fliould you 
difobey him, we could keep our own counfel,— 
Then if nobody knows we have found out his fc- 
cr€t, what have we to fear, while we continue 
mute as death ? 

A Voice within. Death ! — [the women look at each 
other, and tremble.^ 

Fati, Did you hear nothing, Irene ? 

Ire. Yes. — I — I 1 thought I heard fomething 

that — Stay O, it muft be an echo. — Thefe large 

old buildings are full of them. 

. Fati. It had an aweful found ! — A tone like thaf, 
they fay, will fail upon the flagged wing of mid- 
night, crofhng the fear flruck traveller upon the 
jdefart, to give him token of a foul murder. 

(y^ deep groan is heard from the interior apartment. 

Fati. O, Hcayen have mercy !— What can this 
mean ? 

Ire. I know not ! — It fecnis the accent of dif- 
trefs.— If fo, it were humanity to fuccour the 
wretched foul who breathes it. 

Fati. Humanity alone, my fifter, could induce 
me to penetrate the myftery this Portal, here, in- 

Ire. No eye can fee us ! 


^8 « BEARf;. 


Fatima and Irene. 

All is hufh'd! No footftep falls ! 
And Silence reigns within the Walls ! 
The Place invites; the Door is near ; 
The Time is apt-- -The Key is here. 
Sayfhall we? Yes. Say Hiall we? No I 
What is it makes us tremble fo ! 

Mifchief is not our intent; 
Then wherefore fear we ftiould repent? 
Sayfhall we ? Yes. The Door is near. 
Say (hall we ? Yes. The Key is here. 

Jt the end of the Diiety Fatima puts the Key in the 
Door^ which finksy and dijcovers the interior Apart- 

menti as at fir ft reprejented The infcription over 

the Skeleton s heady isy now, 
^he Blue Chamber undergoes the J am e change y as in 
the firjl inftance. The Women ftoriekj and run to 
each othery and hide their heads in fach others ho- 
Jcms. — At this moment Shacabac appears at the top 
of the Stair-cafe :-^then runs down haftily. As he 
defcendsy the Door rifes, and the Chamber refumes it's 
original appearance. 

Shac. {Speaking as defcending) O, 'tis as I fear'd ! 
This comes of her not waiting for me. — She knows 
the fecret, and fhe dies!— O, Lady! what have 
you done .'' — 

Fati, Begone! — You knew of rhis. Your look, 



when late Abomelique left me, now is explained.— 
You are an accomplice in this bloody bufinefs. 

Sbac. I ! 

Fafi. My Death, no iJoubt, is certain ; — and, in 
you, perhaps, I fee my executioner. 

Shfic. How a man's looks may belyc him ! This 
comes now, of my being fuch an ugly dog ! — I 
wouldn't hurt a hair of your head to be made a 

Fati. Prove it, then, by faving us. 

Shac. How ? 

Ire. Condu6t us from the Callle. 

6hac. Impoflible, The outward Gates are clofely 

Fail- Nay, nay, you do not pity us. 

Shac. Not pity you 1 — Oh ! he mull have a hard 
heart to fee a lovely woman in extremity and not 
try to fofcen her diftrcfs.— Stay ! — Perhaps we may 
conceal the — Where's the Key ? — 

Ire. It fell upon the ground and • 

Sbac. The ground! — Aye — Here — Perhaps we 
may be able to — (^taking it up) Nay, then, every 
hope is loft ! — The Key is broke ! 

Fati. All is difcover'd then \ 

Ire. Certain. O, Fatima ! would the Bafhaw had 
any humanity within his breall, and that fatal Key 
could unlock it ! — ■ 

bhac. O, Would he had ! I'd (luff the Key dc^n 
his throat, as foon as he came home, to get at it-— ^ 


'A 3^' 

{The Horn of the Cajlle Gate is. founded.^ 
There I — The Bafhaw returned ! — full fix hours be- 
fore his time 1 

Ire* O Heaven I what are we to do ? 
> j Faiif.l Am wreck lefs of the future. Perhaps 
-J Jtyvere better I Ihould die ! — 'Twill end a Life, which 
,. |)romifed nought but mifery. 

Ire. Die ! — Oh, Sifter ! [embracing her."] 
Shac. Do not weep ! do not weep !— I'lii almofl: 
dillrafted — Hurry hence — come. Lady ! — meet him 
as if nothing had happen'd — Colled: your fpirits, — 
Smooth your looks. — This way, now !— Q ! if choak,^ 
ing can fave your Life, my forrow for you bids fair 
to piel'erve It. Come, Lady, come! 

{Exeunt, up Stair cafe.) 


Another Apartment in the Cafile, 

Enttr Shac ABAC, — koklng Behind him as he enters. 

.- . .Skac. I have lcft]them on the top of the Stair, that I 

may avoid obfervation. — If they get far enough from 

the Blue Chamber before inquiry is made for them, 

iht^y may conceal the— — — — — ~ 

,-- ; .£«/fr Hassan. [Shacahac mr.s againjl him.) 

Shnc, Umph ! — Who's that? 

//^. Hafian — The black Eunuch. 

Shaf. Whither arc you going ? 



Ilaf. To feck the Lady Fatima by the Bafliav^'s 

Shac. Are you ? — If he meets them fo near the 
fatal Chamber, and mentions it to the Bafhaw, they 

are loH. — I mud detain him. 1 Haflan 1 

I fay, Haflan — How d'ye do, Hafl^an ?— 

Haf. I'm well, I thank you, Shacabac. 

Shac. Well, are you ? — Are you fure you are well ? 

Haf. Very well. 

Shac. Very well ? — Very well, I'm glad of it.— 
So am I, thank you, HalTan. That is I'm tolerable 
as the time g^jes. — But you had never the kindnefs 
toafk me; — Me, you fellow Slave !— Pray, now, do 
alk mc: — Do, — for that v/ill take up a little thne. 


Haf. Why then, howdy'e do Shacabac ? 

Shac. Very ill indeed, Haffan ! — Only feel my 
pulfe. — Count it 'till it beats juft one hundred and 
twenty. — Twice fixty feconds will delay him about 
two minutes. (^afide.) 

Haf I don't know how to count Shacabac. 

Shac. Don't you ? — Why not ? 

Haf. I can't read. 

Shac. That's a good reafon. — 1 fhould think, ere 
this, they are far enough from the Blue Chamber 

to A little longer to makeall fure. {afide) I have 

been thinking Haflan, why you and I fhould be of 
different colours. . 


4'2 BLUE beard; 

IhJ. Fortune has difpofed itfo — She has made me 
black* and vou white; — but don't let that motify yoi>. 
Shac. It fhan't. But as you fay, Haffan, Fortune 
will make men of difTerent fhades. — Fortune's chec- 
quer'd : — and flie checquers men alternately — black 
and white — like the Squares in the Balhaw's Chef'^- 
Board. — When 1 think how much Fortune is chec- 
qiier'd, I think — I think that — I think I have almoft 
ktpt you long enough for my purpofe (afide) What 
are the Balhaw's orders to the Lady Fatima ? 

Hcj. That he muft attend her, inftantly, in th-e 

Shac. In the Garden ? — Was that the command, 
Hairan ? 

Hrf. It was, Shacabac. 

S'hac, Then Til tell you what, HaiTan— if ever 
the Mafler of the Slaves gave you a found drubbing, 
for iUi} ing fo long on a meflage, you'll get one now. 

1 l(J. Why have you delay'd me, then ? 

Shac. I !-^— You have delay'd m.e. You have a 
brain for bufinefs, Irluflan ; — but, whenever you 
meet ar.y one in your way, you will ftop, and gab- 
ble. — I hat's your fault — Away ! 

liflf. n\ go iind her. (Exit Htijan) 

tha. And I'll to the Garden, to watch her inter- 
view with the Bafhaw : And weak as my means are, 
~ Til catch at every draw topreferve her! 

(Exit Shacabac.) 




A Garden.'-^ln the back of which is a port of AbomeUqhe' s 
Cafik — and aDraiV' bridge leading to the Caftle Gate, 
— A Corridor before the Apartments on the firfl flory . 
•—A Door beneath '/. — A Turret on the top of the 
Building overlooking the Country, 

Enter Abomelique, a?id a Slave. 

Abom. Is Fatima inform'd I wait her prefencc 
here ? 

Slave. HaiTan by your command — ^-She comes. 

Enter Fatima, 

Abom, Leave us. 

( Exit Slave) 

Fati. (in apparent confufion) This fpeedy return I — 
I look'd not for. 

Abom, I had accounts to fettle,— -with Traders, — 
Merchants from Gallipoh : But when worldly bufi- 
nefs dr^ws men abroad who leave their hearts at 
home, then, Fatima, Love's wings give fwiftnefs to 
the leaden hours of dull negotiation ; and the mercu- 
rial fpirit of an cnamour'd mind confolidates a vo- 
lume, ere Commerce, dozing o'er his Day-book, can 
plod a page. How have your li,ours paiTd in my 
abfence? Have you view'd the Caille ? 

r^ti, I have, fir. 

G 2 AbQm<, 


Abom. Well, faw you aught worthy your infpec- 
tion ? 

Fati, Worthy, fir ? - 

Abom. Aye worthy — There are fights here, per- 
haps, that common eyes ne'er look'd upon. 
Fati. There are indeed ! 

Ahom. Now, pleafe you, give me back the Keys. 
Fati. They are here, {^delivers them in great agita- 

Abom. How now ? — You tremble ! 
Fati. Tremble, Sir !— Why fliould I ? 
Abom. You beft can anfwcr that.— Sometimes, 
Lady, 'twill betray Guilt. 

Fati. And know You, then, no inftance where the 
Guilty do not betray themfelves by trembling ? 

Abom. Umph ! — I comprehend not that. One 
Key is wanting ! where is it ?■ (Jlernly). 
Fati, I have it. 
Abom. Give it me. 

Fati, Be not impatient. — 'Tis in my pocket. 
Abom. Produce it. 

Fati. I fhall- — but, by mere accident, you fee 'tis 
jsroken. (gives it). 

Abom, Damnation ! — Lady, this Key is Charm- 
fraUj^htj forged in a fulphurous Cave, within whofe 
biood-befprinkled mouth nothing but Witchcrafc 
enters, to celebrate her frantick revels. Tiiis fpeaks- 
a damning proof againft you, and you die I (draivs ' 



his Scymctar and holds it ever her head, — She falls en 
her Knees.) 

Fati. Oh, Spare mc ! Spare me ! — If ever I ap- 
proach'd the door but to > 

Abom. No proteflations ! (going to Jlrike). 

Fati. Befeech you, hold ! — Alas ! if I muft die, 
grant me Tome little time, for preparation. 

Jbcm. (After a Jhort paufe) — Well, — be it fo. 
Yonder's your chamber, {pointing to an Apartment 
within the Corridor.) Thither inftantly : foon expect 
me there — then to expiate^ your crime by Death. — - 
Beipre me to the Caitle ! 

{Exit Fati MA through the Door under the Corridor ^ 

Abomeliqije following her with his drazvn i:cj;- 

{Enter Shacabac, on the oppofite fide.) 

Shac. Allah, preferve her poor foul ! But I fear 

flie goes to certain Death ! O that I were able to 

fave her ! Are there no means to This hellifli 

Abomelique whips off women's heads as if they were 

a parcel of buttons. — Let me liflen. 

(Fatima comes from her Afartmenty upon the Cor" 

Hilt! Lady! Lady Fatima! 

Fati. O get you hence, good fellow I Your anxie- 
ty may make you a fharer with me, in the Balhaw's 

6'hac, Where is ke ? 




FatL I cxpe6l him inftantly to afcend the Stair, 
and execute his dreadful purpofe. 

Sbac. O, Mahomet, holy Prophet ! if ever you 
break a Bafhaw's neck over a Stair-cafe, now's your 
time ! 

Fati, Hark ! — I hear him ! — No. 

Irene appears on the Top of the Turret: 

Ire. Sifter! Sifter Fatima ! 

Fati, Irene \ Is it you ?— O, Sifter, fare you well ! 
I die a cruel death !-— 

Ire. My heart bleeds for you \ 

Shac. So does mine, I'm fure ! 

Ire. Should Travellers appear, I'll call to them 
to fuccour us. 

Abom. {Calling from FatimaV Apartment^ Fati- 

Fati. O, Heaven! he has enter'd the Apartment! 

Alom. {Without') Why Fatima ! 

Shac. 'Tis he ! {retires under the Corridor^. 

Fati. One moment, I befeech you I I have but 
one poor prayer to offer up to Heaven, and then I 
{:ome, — Is there no help I 




Q^U A R T E T T O. 

Abomdiquey Fatima, Irene, Shacahac. 
Fati. Look from the Turret, filter dear ! 

And fee if fuccour be not near. 

O tell me what do you defcry? 
Ire. Nothing but dreary Land and Sky. 

^X,;. P^^^' Alas! then I You. Luftdie! 

Jbom. Prepare.-/'.//.--.He calls! Look out, again ! 
Look out, look out acrofs the plain ! 
Ah me ! does nothing meet your eyes? 
I fee a Cloud of Duft arife. 

That Cloud of Dull a hope fupplies ! 

Abom. No more delay. 

Fati. A moment ftay ! 
Fati. O, watch the Travellers, my Sifter dear ' 
Ire. I'll wave my handkerchief, 'twill draw them near 
Shac. They'll fee it fpeedily, and hurry here, 
Abo7n. Prepare ! 

Aban. No more delay. 

■^^/A A moment ftay! 
Fati. "^ 

Z''^. ^They come. 
Shac. S 

Abom. Prepare ! 
Fati. f 
ire. [They'll be too late! 

Now ,h.y difaoun. !.-They„ at the Gate!-. 
Atom. Prepare! 



Abomelique, as they finifh the Quartette, rujiies 
from the Apartment upon the Corridor, feizes Fati- 
MA, and is upon the point of beheading her, when 
Selim and his Companions having croJJ'd the Draw- 
bridge, found the Horn loudly at the Gate. — Abome- 
lique, alarm d at the Nofe, retires hajiily, dragging 
Fa TIM A into the Apartment. 

(Shacabac conies from under the Corridor.') 

Shac. {to Selim, who is on the Drawbridge,) You'll 
gee no entrance there. 

Sel, Say, where isFatima! 

Shac. Trembling under the Bafliaw's clutches. 

Sel. We force the Gate, then. 

Shac. 'TJs impoflibie. Get round to the Eaftern 
Batdementj we areweakeft there. — Away! and fuc- 
cefs attend you ! 

Sel. To judge you from your condu(5t, you Jfhould 
be a friend. What are you ? 

Shac. What every man fhould be — a Friend to 
Virtue in diftrefs wherever I meet it. Away, or 
you will be too late. 

Sel. Come, Comrades! — be firm! fight ludily. 
Quick March ! — 

{Thev hurry from the Bridge, to quick Martial Mufck.) 

[Exit Shacabdc, 




An Apartment in the Cajlh, 

Alarums, Shouts, &c. 

Enter A Body of Slaves. 

I ft Slave. We are artack'd. — Up to the Ram- 
parts. — Where is Ibrahim, our Leader ? 
2d Slave. He's no where to be found. 
I ft Slave. We muft begin without him, then. I'^ 
is the Baftiaw's order. — Follow ! — 

\^Exeimi Slaves. 
(Shouts ivithoi^t. 

Enter Ibrahim. 

Ihra. Mercy on me ! — I quake in my cloaths like 
a cold jelly in a bag! They are battering the Caftle 
to pieces. I am the unluckieft Muftulman in all 
Turkey! Here's a Building that has ftood wind and 
weather this age, and, the moment I pop my nofc 
into it, it begins tumbling about my ears. — 


Aery cf TO Arms! to Arms! 

To Arms! O, dear I — I had much rather to Legs, 
if I knew which way to efcape. Now fhall I be ex- 
peded to put myfclf in the front of the ranks, be- 
caufe I am Major-.Bcmoi — but, if I do, I'll give 
them leave to mince the Major Dc:no for his Soh- 
in-Law's fupper. (Alarumj, 

H FMer 


Fjiier id. Slave. 
O Mahomet ! what's that ? 

I ft. dlave. An Enemy is on the Walls. 
3ra. Then,' you cowardly rafcal, do you go and 
knock him into the ditch. 

ift. Slave. We wait for you. You arc appointed 
our Leader— There is no difciplinc without you. — 
We want a Head. 

Jb^^a. Do you ? — So fhall I, if I go with you. — 

Get on before — Tell 'em to fight like fury ; — and I'll 

be with them, to reward their valour, when it's all 

over. — Run that way, that leads into the a6lion. 

id. Slave. I will. \_ExU Shrce, 

Ihra. And I'll run this way, that leads out of it. 

(^Shouts Alarum^ z^cj 


7 be infide of the Sepulchre. 
The hfcnptioHy oi-er the Skeletons head, is now, — ■ 



(The Shouts and Alanms continue!) 
Enter Abomeliqite with his <Seymetar drawn^ — drag- 
ging in Fa TIM A. 
Ahem. On every fide it rages : The Slaves give 
way. You flill are in my power. You Sorcerefs, 



nave led me to the toil ! Your Death will cxtric ue 
me — Meet it then here: — Here, in the Sepulchr , 
which you have violated. 

Fati. Nay take me hence. — Let me not perldi in 
this abode of horror! 

Abom, Thy prayers are vain.— 

As he raifes kis Scymetar tojirike, a near Attack is heard ^ 
mid a violent crajlt in the Building i-r-r-Part of the ivull, 
in the back of the Sepulchre, towards the roofy is beat 
dozvn^ and S211M appears in the Aperture. 

Sel. Hold, Ru.' ! hold they arm ! 

Fati» Oh Selim ! 

Abom. Raih fool ! I know thee, and thy purpofe. 
Thy prefence, now, fv.rells the full tide of my lefent- 
menr, and gives a higher zcft to vengeance. Know 
the decrees of Defliny, and curfc thy weaknels 
which would countera6l ir. — "This Sepulchre fhall 
inclofe Her who fhall endanger the Life of Abomeli- 
que." This wretch, here, has endanger'd it- — This 

Sepulchre inclofes her, and 

. Sel. But not in Death : Tyrant, thy hell- born Spells 
promife not that, 

Abom. Does my Fate juggle with me, then!— 
Hold — No yon dagger is my fafe- guard f pointing to 
the Talifman) 'till mortal hands can reach ir. Weak 
boy ! Defpair, and fee her die. 

Fati. While Selim lives— So near mc too,— -my life 
is precious, and I druggie to prefervc it, 

H a Shi 


She Jlruggles with Abomelique, who attempts to kill 
her ; — and, in the ftruggley fnatches the Dagger from 
the pedejlal of the Skeleton. — The Skeleton rifes on his 
feet — lifts his arm which holds the Dart, and keeps if 
fufpended. At that inflant the entire wall of the Se- 
pulchre falls to pieces, and admits Sj:lim to the 
ground.— Behind — among frag^ments of the building y a 
body of Spahis is dijcoiered^ onfoot^ with Abome- 
lique's Slaves under their Sabres ^ in poflures offub- 
wiffion, and farther back is feen a large Troop of 
Horfe — 77/1? neighbouring Country terminates the view. 

Selim advances towards Abomej-ioxje. 

Sel. Now, turn thee hither ! 
Abom. Baffled ! — I ftill have mortal means, and 
thus I ufe thern. 

Selim ^«^ A b o ^vi e l iqjt e fight zvith S cyme tars — During 
the Combat J Enter Irene and Shacabac. — After 
a hard conteft, Selim overthrozvs Abomelique at 
the foot of the Skeleton. — The Skeleton infiayitly plunges 
the Dart, which he has held fufpended, into the bread 
©/"Abomelique, and finks witji him beneath the earth, 
(A volume of Flame arijes, and the earth clofes.) ^ 

Selim j^w^Fatima embrace, 

Shae. Huzza !— If ever the Bafhaw was in fit 
company, he has got into it now. 
Fati. Oh Sclim ! 



SfiL Thus fafe, at laft, I clafp thee ! 

Ire. Joy, joy,' my Sifter! we have conquered. 

Fati. Where is my Father? — 

Shac. Hid in the duft«holc. — when the noife is over, 
I wc may chance to get fight of him. 

Sel. All fhall be explain'd : Our Marriage now, 
my Fatima, may meet his fanflion — And you my 
honcft fellow mull not go unrewarded {Jo Shacahac). 
— Thanks my brave Comrades ! — 

Spahis and Slaves come forward. 

'We are victors— and in the countenance, here, of every 
Slave I fee a fmilc impreft, which betokens joy, in 
having loft a Tyrant. 

Slaves. Thanl^s to our Deliverer ! 

Sel. Come, Fatima. — Let us away from this rude 
Scene of horror^^: — and blefs the Providence which 
nerves the arm of Virtue to humble Vice, and Op- 


Monftcrs of Hell, and Noxious Night, 
Howl your Songs of wild delight ! 
To your gloomy Caves defcending. 
His career of Murder ending. 
Now the Tyrant's Spirit flics : 

Bathed in a flood 

Of guilty Blood, 

He diesl He dies! 


54 £LU£ BEARD. 

How great Is the tranfporr, the joy how complete. 
When, raifed from Defpair, thus Love's votaries meet ! 
Sv/ect the Delight that Lovers prove! 
Sweet, when Fortune, tired of fro.s ning. 
Hymen comes, with pleafure crowning 
Happy Love ! 



In a few Days will be Puhlijhed, 

The Third Edition of 


Printed for MeiTrs. Cadell and Davies in the 
Strand j of whom may be had 






As it isPtT formed at the 
T H E A T Pv E S 11 O A^ A J. 


AX J) 

The !^hlf ick C oinp oie cl bv 

TBO, Ar (-L AllA^E, ^Inil ])nr. 
A XE w ]:])iTio:>s. 
L O X J) O X: 

Print e cl foi'\;\':LoWNDE SX 7 7 Tl^et Street 


(^ The Reader is rcquefted to obferv^e, that 
the Faffages omitted hi the Reprefentatlon at 
the Theatres, are here preferved and dllxhi- 
giuflied by mverted Comrnas, as from luic 8' 
to line 12 in page 9, 

( 3 ) 


THE Reputation of Metas,tasio, is too well 
eftabliflied in the World, to need any Apology 
;for giving this Public a Trandation of Arlaxerxes, an 
Opera performed and admired 4II over Europe. But 
as the narrative Part of the Drama may feem too 
barren of forcible Epithetc, which, in reading or 
fpeakmg, dignify the Stile, it may be neceffary to 
give Mr. Djyden's and Lord Lanjdowns Senti- 
ments on. the Occafion, which exactly correfpond 
•vith thofe of our Author. Mr. Dryden fays — 
- that no Critic can juflly determine the Merit or 
Diftcultyofwritrng a Poem for Mufic, till he has 
.been frequently converfant with fome fldlful Mu- 
.fician and acquired, by Experience, a Knowledge 
'Of what IS moft proper for Mufical Expreffion •" 
And Lord Lanjdown, in his Preface to the Briti/k 
Xnchaniers, exclaims againft that Species of Drama- 
tic xJialogue, which, initead of being free, natural, 
and eafy, as Converfation fhould be, is precife or 
formal, argumenting pro and con, like Difputams in 
a School. He further alks the Queftion, ''Whether 
m Writing as in Drefs, it is not poffible to be too 
■cxaa, tooftarcht, and too formal ?" And concludes 

■thus -Pleafing Negligence many have feen • 

•who ever faw plcafijig Formality ?" ' 

A 2 


iv P R E F A C E. 

Mdajlafio, in his Dialed, feems to afFcO; Simpli- 
city, and from his great Experience in writing for 
JVlufic, has given the following Flan for the Po,etry 
cf an Opera, viz. 

That the Fable, or Recitative, to which fixed 
Mufical Sounds are adapted, fhould be firnple Dia- 
led; hard and diffonant Epithets (though ever fo 
forcible in other refpeBs) being deflru6livc to Mufic, 
and when fung. for the chief Part, unintelligible.— - 
That the Similies be confined to the Songs; and that 
the Words, which are to exprefs them, be as fmooth 
and fonorous as pofTible, left the Compofer be cramp- 
ed in his Fancy, and the dingers rendered incapable 
of fhewing their Skill, which chiefly confifts in openly 
difplaying the Tones of their Voices, or running 
executive Parages. 

. '1 he Tranftator of this Opera has no Merit, but 
from his Endeavour to follow the Author in all 
thefe Particulars. He, therefore, fubmits this firft 
Attempt of the Kind to the Favour and Indulgence 
of the Public, not doubting that (if they confider 
the Diificulty of writing under fuch Reftriciions ; the 
Neccdity of fometimes departing from the Author, 
on account of the different Idioms of our Language • 
and of leaving out many Beauties in the Narrative 
Part of the Drama, for the Sake of Brevity) they 
will rather pcrufc it with an Eye of Favour than 


( V ) 

The A R G U M E N T. - 

J^ERXES, King of Perjia, having been often 
difcomfited by the Greeks, his Power began great- 
ly to decline ; which Artabanes, Commander of the 
Royal Guards perceiving, entertained Hopes of fa- 
crificing all the Royal Family to his Ambition, an4 
by that Method to afcend the Throne of Perfia ; 
for which Purpofe, availing himfelf of the Advan- 
tage which Familiarity and Friendfliip with the King 
gave him, he entered, at the dead of Night, the 
i\partment of Xerxes, and flew him. 

He afterwards fo irritated the young I'rinces 
againft one another, that Artaxerxes, one of them, 
caufed his Brother Darius to be flain, believing him 
the Parricide, owning to the artful Infinuation of 

Nothing was then wanting to cojnplete his Dcfigns, 
but the Death o^ Artaxerxes ; which Artabanes havincr 


prepared, though by various Accidents delayed, 
(which furnifh the epifodial Ornaments of this Drama, 
could not accomplifh, the Treafon being difcovercd, 
and Artaxerxes preferved ; which Difcovery and Pre- 
servation form the principal A6lion of the enfuing 
Drama. Jujlin, lib. 3, cap, 1. 

The A8;ion is reprefented in or near the Palace 
pf the Kings of Perfia, in the City of Suja. 

Dramatis ^ 



k— < 











a >-: 









'te ■ 



■ta — 





■ d 






•S rV 




(ji: .: 


S ' 
























































,2 I 

-1 i 

*^ 1 




^ 1 











Ct, CO 




"1 § 



5" ^ 

$ t 

S 1 







rt 5; 



< X 

ACT I. SCENE, An Inner Garden hdongmg tQ 
the Palace of the King p/ Persia. Moon-light, 

Man DANE and Arbaces. 

Man. QTILL filence reigns around, fufpicion fleep.'?, 
»^ And unperceived you may efcapc thefe walls. 
j^rab- Adieu, my love; O think on thy Arbaces. 
Man. Yet ftay, fwect youth; a few fliort minutes flay, 
Arb. Adored Manclanc ! fee the dawn appears, 

Du E T T I N I. Fair Aurora, prythce jlay ; 
retard zmzvelcome day ; 
Think what anguijh rends my hrcaji 2 
Thus carejpcng, thus carejl ; 
Trcm the idol of my hearty 
Forced at thy approach to part. 

Arab. Alas, thou know'ft that, for my love to thee. 
The kirlg. great Xerxes, thy too rigid father, 
Has banifht me the palace, fhould he know. 
That, in defiance of his {\.QTn command, 
I have prefumed to fcale this garden- wall ; 
How little would a lover's plea avail, 
AVhen thou, his daughter, couldft not move his pity. 


8 A R T A X E R X E S. 

MiZ??. Thy noble father, mighty Ariabanes, 
Difpores at his will the heart of Xerxes ; 
And the young prince my brother, Artaxerxes, 
Erought up with thee in virtuous emulation, 
'Honours thy worth and boafts thy valued friendfliip i 
Their intereft may foften his refentment. 

^rb. Weak are their efforts, while his kingly pride 
Difdains to rank a princefs with a fubjeft. 

Man. My fpirits fink, my heart forgets to beat, 
I have not forttiude to bear thy lofs — 
And mud we part?— -Then all good angels'guard thee ! 

-! Adieu, tJiou lovely youth ; 

Let hope thy J ears remove ; 
Preferve thy faith and truth, 

But never doubt my love. [Exit, 

Arh. O cruel parting ! How can I furvive ? 
Divided thus from all that's fweet and fair, 
From her, for whom alone I live ! 

Enter Artabrnes, 

Art. Son, Arbdces. 

Arb. My father ! 

Art. Give me thy fword. 

Arb. Sir, I obey. 

Art. Here, take thou mine. 

yjrb. *Tis drcncht in blood ! 

Art. Fly, hide it from all eyes ; 
Xerxes, the king, this daring arm 'hath fliin. 

Arb. Forbid it heaven ! 

Art. O much-loved fon ? 
Thy treatment wag the fpur to my reveuge — 
For thee Fm guilty. 

Arb. Would I had ne'er been born. 

Art. Let not weak fcruples thwart my great defign ; 
Perhaps Arbaces fhall be king of Perjii, 



Arh. I'm all confufion— 

yirt. No more — begone. 

j^rb. O fatal day ! — Unhappy, loft Arhaces, 

y^mid a thoufand racking woes, 
I pant, I tremble, and I feel 
Cold blood from every vein dijiil, . 
And clog my lab'ring heart. 

*' I fee my fair one's lojl repofe, 
. '* And, 0! lament the fatal cur fe 
' ' That he who gave me life could thus 

" From virtue s laws departs" [Exit. 

■ \ 
Art. Be firm my heart. — In the purfuit of guilt, 
The firft advance admits not a retreat : 
The royal blood, to the laft hateful drop, 
Muft then be fhed. Confcience, thy checks are vain— 
The prince appears, — now art's my only refuge. 

Enter Artaxerxes, Rimenes, and Guards, 

Artax. Dear Artahanes, glad I meet thee here ; 
Thy prince demands thy counfel, 
Thy royalty — Revenge — • 

Art. I tremble, lir — 
This dire injunction wants an explanation. 

Artax, Difaftrous fate — Yonder my father lies 
Savagely murder'd ! 

Art. Ah ! my ill-boding fears ! 
Unfated thirft of empire ! 
Alas ! — Will nothing but a father's blood 
Allay thy heat, and quench thy raging fever ? 

Artax. Well I conceive — my faithlefs cruel brother 
Darius — 
' Artah. Who but he at dead of night could penetrate 
The palace ? Who approach the royal bed ? 
Nay more, his known ambition — 

Artax. O, if here lives a heart that calls me friend. 
Or feels compalTion for his (laughter'd king. 
Quick let him bring the traitor to our prefence. 

B Art, 

«o A R T A X E R X E S. 

u^rt. Thzt welcome tafk be mine — 
Guards follow me. [Goings 

Artax, Yet flay— 
Darius is the fon of Xerxes. 

Art. Who kills the father, is no mbi'c 3= fon. 

Behold ! on Lethe '5 difmaljlrand 
Thy father s troubled [pint fiand ! 

In his face tuhat grief profound ! 
See he rolls his haggard eyes ; 
Hark ! Revenge ! Revenge ! he cries ; 

And points to hisjlill bleeding wound : 
Obey the call, revenge his death, 
And cahn his foul that gave thee breath, [Exir. 

A R T A X E R X E s ^o/;z <r. Enter Semira. 

Sem. Stay, Artaxerxes, flay,,,, '■, ' ., 

Artax. Adieu, Semira.^ 

Sem. And doft thou fly me ? Go then, cruel prince^, 
No more fhall ill-timed fondnefs importune thee. 

Artax. Beauteous 5nwzra, fhould 1 longer Hay,' 
There's fuch a fyren fweetnefs in thy voice, 
"T would lull me to forget my filial duty, 

Sem. Away, ungrateful. 

Artax. i^i^fr Semira, larvely maid, 
Ceafe in pity to upbr-aid- 

My opprejl but conjiant heart :'■ 
Full' fulJicieni m'e t^ie.zDo&s^, ' • 
Which my cruel J la rs iinpof^ r 

?Ieaven, alas ! ■ has done its part. [Exi't. 

Sem. I fear fomc dread difafter---Say, Rimenes, 
What means this Ihange confufionin the prince / 

Rim. Xerxes is flairi---. 
5>urpicion points the finger at Darius : 
And Arfaxerxes bears a dreadful coV.flicl, 
'Tvvixt filial duty to revenge his father, 
And brotherly compaffion for Darius. 

Scr.i. O fatal deed ! th' e-fFect\of wild ambition y 
\ Icavrn" knows if At-taxcrkt.s' I'ifo he fafe. 


A R T A X E R X E S. ii 

Rim. Let fate be bufy in deftruc-tive flaugbter; 
We, bleft with love, and leated on ihe lliore, 
Will view the deftin'd fhipwreck. 

Sem. Think not that love can find a place to enter, 
When the fad heart's furrounded with misfortunes ; 
Leave me, Rimenes, to my troubled thoughts. 

Rim. Your web of fcorn is not fo clofely woven, 
Eut I can fee between each fub.tle thread ; 
Yet, born to love, undaunted 111 purfue thee ; 
Since hope infpires my breaft, what you deny, 
Ungrateful maid! kind fancy fliall fupply.. 

When redl joy we mzfs., . 

'Tisfome degree of blifsj 

T' enjoy ideal plea fur e, 

And dream of hidden treafure* 

TIu foldier dreams of wars, 

And conquers without fears ; 

The faiior in his fleep, 

With fafeiy ploughs the deep : 

So I, thro' fancy's aid, 

En'ioy my heavenly maid, 

And blefl with thee and love. 

Am greater far than Jove. fExit, 

'Sem. Ye Gods, prote8:ors of the Perfzan empjrs, 
Prefcrve my Ariaxer.xes-—YcX if he be blcft--- 
Scmira's flate is wretched : Xerxes dead. 
This prince will mount the throne ; 
Beloved by me, and raifed above my hopes, 
The hand which he intreated when a fubjett^ 
When fovcreign of Pcrfia he'll difdain, 

Hozu hard is my fate, 
How defperate my flate, 
When virtue and honour excite, 
To fuffer difircfs. 
Contented to blefs, 
Tht ohjeH in whom I delight, 

^ 2 Yet, 

1% A R T A X E R X E $. 

Yet, midjl all the woes 

My foul undergoes, _ 
^hro' Virtue's too rigid decree ; 

I'll f corn to complain, 

If the force of my pain 
Awaken his pity for me, [Exit. 

SCENE, The Palace. 
Enter Mandane. 
Where do I fly ? — Ah, haplefs maid ! 
Thus, in one fatal inftant,^ 
To lofe a brother, father, and a lovtr ! 

Enter Artaxerxes. 

Artax. Alas, Mandane ! 

Man. Does Darius live ? 
Or are thy guilty hands ' 

Imbrued in thy brother's blood ? 

Artax. Fain would I fhun that deed. 
Which to prevent, I've fearcht throughout the palate 

For Artabanes and Darius 

But all in vain 

Man. See, ylrtabanes comes. 

Enter Artabanes. 

Artaa. My friend ! 

Art. I fought you, fir — All is accompifht. . 

Artax. Ha! fpeak, explain. 

Art. Your father's death's revenged, 
Darius (lain, and Artaxerxes now 
Is Perfia's King. 

Artax. Oh, Gods! 

Man. Oh, dire misfortune ! 

Art. Why that deep figh, my liege ? *Twas your 

Artax. Alas ! 'tis true, the guilt is only mine. 

Art. What guilt, my fovereign ? 
'Tvas merely ju'.lice to your murther'd father. 
Take comfort, fir; 


A R T A X E R X E S. i^ 

And think, that in Darius' death, 

A wicked, bloody parricide is punifht. 

Enter Semira. 

Sevi. Oh, Artaxerxes ! 

Artax. Say, fair Semira, why this feeming joy ? 

Sem, Darius is not guilty of the murder. 

Man. What do I hear ? 

Artax. I'm ftruck with double horror. 

Sem. Th' affaflin is fecured. 

Artax. O quick, proceed. 

Sevi. Your watchful centinels, when he had leapt 
The garden-wall, o'ertook him as he fled. 
His deep confufion, palid countenance, 
And fword yet reeking with the crimfon bloody 
Strongly proclaim him guilty. 

Artax. But the name, 

Sem. At my requeft to know it 
All hung their heads in filence. 

Art. Alas, it is my fon ! [^AJiie. 

Artax, Muft Artaxerxes then afcend the throne, 
Diftain'd with brother's blood ? 
Oh, I fhall never tafte of peace again. 
Quick, bring this traitor ; that unbounded rage 
May execute the vengeance he deferves. 
Hold, Artabcnes, dear Mandane, ftay. 

Semira, leave me not in this diftrefs. 

Where is my friend, Arbaces ? 

Artab. He was forbid the court by royal Xerxes 
For his prefumptuous love to fair Mandane. 

Artax. Fly, bring him to my arms — I here ab» 
folve him. 
Enter Rimenes with Arbaces Prijoner. 

Rim. Who in this royal prefence would believe 
Arbaces to be guilty ? 

Artab. How ! 

Artax. My friend ! 

Artab. My fon ! 
Sem. My brother! 


14 A R TAX E R X E S. 

Man. Oh, ye Gods! my lover! 

Artax. Would in the pangs of death I'd rpet my 
Rather than thus in fetters like a traitor. 

Aj-b. I'm innocent. 

Artax. O make but that appear, 
And doubly 'twill endear thee to my love. 

Arb. I am not guilty, that's my only plea. 

Artab. This prudent caution, anfwers to my wifii. 

Mail. But your refentment 'gainft the king — ^ 
Arb, Wasjuft. 
Artax. Didft thou npt^fly ? 
Arb. I did, .-)!■, 

Man. This thy referve^ — - 
Arh. Is requifite. 

A^'tax. And thy down-caft confufion -- 
Arb. Is fuited to th' occafion. , , ,:\ . 

Ririi. This bloody fword— ■ ..u. r^Shewing it, 

Arh. Was in the fcabbard, whep: ypu- took me pri- 
^'- J. foner. 

'Art. And canfl thou y^t deny the cfuel deed ? 
Arb. Great fir, I fiill affcrt ray innocence. 
Artab.^ Audacious boy ! thus obftinate in ill, 
Thy fight's my torment, and this dce^ niy fhame. 
Arb. Ancl does my father join iji my deftrudipn ! 

Aftab. Thy father ! azoay, I renounce 'the foft claim ! 
Thou [pot on vi)i lion our, thou hlafl io my fame. 
Letjufiice ike traitor to punrjlmicnt bring ; 
Bi^ father he lofi;-when he murder d, hiiking. [Ex. 

Arl, Ve cruel Gods, what crime have I committed 
To draw relentiefs vengeance on my head ? 
^(.^]^'j^ I f^^^x ! hear me with compaffion. fExit Sem, 

** Sem. Acquit thee of this foul offence, 
" Return loith fpotlcfs innocence; 
" Ihni fnall my haplefs br-other frr, 
" "That never ffier lov'd like me." 



A It t A X E R X E S. 1^ 

Ark Appearance, I miift own, is ftrong againft me, 
But truth is on my fide — I'm innocent. 

Artax. Pray heaven thoamay'ft; but till the law 
You nluft remain a ptifoner. [^Exit, 

Arab. Ah, dear Rimenes, pity my hard fate — 
My friend ! 

Rim. I am no traitor's friend — Adieu. [^ExiL 

Arb. Beauteous Mandane, turn at icaft and_hear me. 

Man. Away ! you fue in vain. \Going* 

Arb. O ftay, I charge thee — 
Think on thy former love. 

Man. 'Tis turn'd to hate. 

Arb. /knd you believe me guilty ? 

Man. I am convinced. 

Arb. too lovely, too unkind^ 
If my lips no credit find, 
Pierce my breajl ; my heart JJiall prove 
Srong in virtue, firm in love. 
Gmklefs, zuretch^d, left forlorn. 
And zvorje than murder d by thy [corn. 

[Exit guarded* 

Recitative accompanied. 

Man. Dear and beloved fliade of my dead father, 
Thee I invoke to fpirit up my rage, 
Left fond credulity too ftrongly plead, 
And turn my purpofe from a juft revenge; 
For, Oh ! I feel the tyrant love within, 
lie rends my breaft, he Itrugglcs for Arb aces ; 
Help mc, kind Gods, to tear away his image 

Fly, [oft idias, fly ; 

That neither tear norj^gh 
■My virtue may betray. 

Nature's great call, 

'7 hat governs all, 
A d-in-ghttr miffi ^oh'ey. 


i6 A R T A X E R X E S. 

Alas, my foul denies 
To hear revenge's cries ! 
Dare not, fond heart, 
1o take his part, 
But drive his form away, [[Exit. 

A C T II. SCENE, Ihe Royal Apartments, 

Artax, f^ U A R D S, fpeed ye to the tower, 

Vj[ And inftantly conduft Arbaces to mr. 

Artab. Good ray lord, 
Think not the partial fondnefs of a father 
Has urged this counfel. 

Artax. No; 'tis juftice diftates; 
He ftill perfifts that he is innocent. 
And his fair truth was ne'er till now fufpeQed ; 
I will withdraw — \Going. 

O, reconcile the fafety of your fon 
With your king's peace, and the honour of his throne. 

In infancy^ our hopes and fears 

Were to each other known ; 
And friendfhip , in our riper years ^ 

Has twined our hearts in one. 
clear him then from this offence ; 

Thy love, thy duty prove ; 
Rejlore him with that innocence. 

Which frjl infpired my love, 

Artab. So far my great refolve fuccceds. [_Afide. 
Approach, Arbaces. 

Enter 4^rbaces and Guards. 

And you, his guards, in the next chamber wait. 

^^Exeunt Guards. 
Arb. My father ! 

Artab. Ever watchful to preferve thee, 
I artfully have gain'd from Artaxgrxes 


A R T A X E R X E S, 17 

The liberty to quefiion thea: 

Take thee this fortunate occaiion, 

And, by a fecret way, which I will fliew ihee, 

Delude the guards, and {iy. 

Arb. Sir, my efcape 
Would rife in evidence to prove me guilty. 

Artab. 'Tis folly all : I give thee liberty ; 
From the king's wrath I fnatch thee ; and, perhaps, 
The public voice fhall call thee to the. throne. 

Arh. What faid you, fir. 

Artah. Long have you known 
The people's hatred to the royal blood : 

The fight of you will fire the mutinous troops, 
Whofe leaders to your intefeft are fworn. 

Arb. 1 turn a rcbeL ! florror's in the thought — "^ 
Your pardon, fir ; — Is this a father's counfel ? 
Guards, enter quick, bring mc again my chains — 
Condu6l me to my prifon. [_Enter Guards, 

Artab. I burn with ra^re. 

Arb. Yet calm this tranfport — think on my affllQion, 
Sir — father — turn — O grant one kind adieu. 

Artab. Unworthy boy ! I'm deaf to thy requeft. 

Arb. Difdairiful you fty me, 

In anger exclaiin ; 
All comfort deny me, 
And murder myjame^ 

No grief can the heart 

To pity incline, 
That bears not a part 

Inforrow like mine. 

Nature's tender pica is vain ; 
Welcome then my chains again. 

O rigour unjif I 
cmmjcl accurji ! 

C Amhikkn 

j8 a r t a X E R X e X 

Ambition ill-placed, 
My virtue difgraced ; 
7 he pains I endure, 
Death only can cure, 

Dijdainjul yen Jly me, &c. 

[Exit, with the guards: 

Enter Rimenes. 

Rim. Vvhy, my dear friend, To pcnfive, fo inafiive? 
■ Artah. My wayward fon, that bar to my ambition-^ 
At once rejeBs both liberty and crowns. 

Rim, Let us away, and force him from the tower. 

Artdb. The prefent time may better be employ 'd> 
If Artaxerxes perifh by our hands. — 
Let not my friend betray me. 

Rim. I, my lord ! 
Forbid it gratitude ! My abjeft {late 
Caft me below the notice of mankind, 
Till your great power exalted nje to honour. 

Altai). Small recompence for thy good fervices : 
But fiiould kind fortune fraile on this attempt, 
Then judge \i Artahanes loves his friend. 

Rim. My hand, my heart, are guided by your will. 

Artah. I have obferved thy paffion for Sanira — 
Spare thy confufion; and let this convince 
Thee of my love — Semira fhall be thine. 

.Rim. Thanks, gracious fir; my joy is pad cxpref* 

Artab. Come hither, daughter. \__Seeing Semira. 

Enter Semira. 

In this valiant chief 

Behold thy lord" and hufband. 

Stm. Cruel found ! 
O fir, refleQ— Ls this a time for nuptials, 
When my unhappy brother— 



Artah. Peace, no more. 
"T'ls my command ---reply not, but obey. \_Exit.> 

Scm. I tremble-— hear me, fir,— O, if you love me. 
Prevent this marriage. 

Rim. Sure Semira mocks me. 

Scm. Though, by conftraint, you feize my helplefs 
My heart difdains the brutal violence. 

Rim. Give me thy beauty, and referve thy heart ; 
rhou keep'fl-the worft, I gain the better part. 

To figh and complain^ 

Alike I difdain, 
'.Contented my wiJJi to enjoy i 

I J corn to refleB 

On a lady's negleEl, 
Or barter my peace for a toy. 

^ In love, as in war, 

I laugh at a fear, 
And, if ?ny proud enemy yield, 
* The joy that remains 
Is to lead her in chains, 
And glean the rich [p oils of the field. [Exit. 

Stiii. How many links to dire misfortune's chain 
Are woven in one day ! 

Enter Man dan e. 

Stay, dear Mandane-— 
Why this hafte ? 

Man. I attend the council. 
^em. I'll too attend, if ought within my power 
May help my brother. 

Man. Our views are different ; thou defir'fl to fave 
him ; 
1 feek his death. 
■ Sem. Is this a langua^re for Arhaces lover ? 
Man., It well becomes the daugliter of dead Xerxes. 
Sem. Away, thou cruel maid ! 
^Enforce his crime, and urge his fpeedy death. 

C % Cut 

20 A R T A X E R X E S. 

But firfl; prepare your heart, and quite erafe 
The foft remembrance of your former paffion. 
The tender hopes and fears, warm vows of truth. 
Fond fio-hs exchanged, and, laft, the fweet idea 
Of that dear form, which firi^ infpired your love. 

Man- Ah, barbarous Semira! thus to wake 
My guilty pity ; rebel to my duty. 

Jfo'rr the cruel tyrant love, 

/i conquejl I believed ; 
'The flattering error ceafe to prove ; 

let me be deceived. 

Forbear to Jan the gentle flame ; 

Which love did firji create ; 
What was my pride is now myJJiamCy 

And niuji he turn'd to hate. 

^hen call not to my w.avering mind, 

The tueaknefs oj my heart : 
Which, ah / ffcel too much inclined 

To take the traitor's part, • j^Exitc 

Sen. Which fatal evil fiiall I firft oppofc ? 
My princefs, brother, this detefted lover, 
Tifieking, ray father, all are enemies; 
And each attacks me in fome tender part; 
Vv' hile I exert my power againft the one, 
'i he others ruQi on my defenceleTs breaft. 

Jf the river s fwelling waves 

(.'Verfloiv their ufual bed ; 
Scarce th' affrighted pea/ant favcs 

Frcm the flood his homely Jhed, 

Tlio' he flcp one open fhore, 

IVhere the waters fi^iftly glide^ 

At an hundred places r/ibre, 

Mvjliis m th' nnpetuGus tide. [Exit. 

S. C E N K, 

A R T A X E R X E S. 21 

SCENE, The Council -Chatn^er, with a throne, feats 
on the fides /or the grandees of the kingdom, (3c. Ar- 
taxerxcs, preceded by guards, afterioards by the nobles, 
Jollowed by Mandane, Semira, Artabanes and Ri- 

Artax. Ye folid pillars of the Per fan empire. 
Behold me fated to fuftain the cares » 

Of my paternal throne^ and much I'm grieved 
That my loved father's death fo heavy lies 
Upon my abfent friend ; but fmce Arbaces 
Denies this accufation, let the father, 
Whofe virtues h^^ve endear'd him to our favour, 
Be the foq's judge, to caft him or acquit him : 
In him is veiled all our regal power. 

Man. In him ! does friendship fo prevail o'er duty ? 

Artax. Not fo, Mandane, for his loyal father ' 
Has double reafon for fcverity. 
I ought to vindicate the death of Xerxes ; 
But lY Arbaces be the criminal, 
His father, with more rigour, will revenge 
His mongirch's death, and his own public fhame, 

Artab, Ah, (ir, what trial !— 

Artax. VVorthy of thy virtue— 
If any think me partial, let him fpeak. 

Rim. This filence is a general approbation, 

Sem., My brother comes. 

Man. Ah me ! 

Artax. Give your attention. 

\_AJcends the throne, the grandees ft, 

Man. ( Now prudence guide the reips of my 
Ceafe, my bufy heart, to flutter in my breafl:. 

^Enter Aebaces in Chains, guarded. 

Arh. Am I fo much the hatred of all Perjia^ 
That it unites to witncis my misfortune ? 
My fovereign ! 


22 A R T A X E R X E S. 

Arla>:. O Arhace^, call me friend ; 
^'or till thy crime is proved, that title's mine ° 
Jkit, as a name fo tender ill becomes 
Th' impartial judge, thv mod unhappy caufe 
I have affign'd to worthy Artabaiu>. 

Arh, My father judge ! 

Ariax. Yes, he. 

Arh. I'm Ciiill'd wi'th horror. 

A'^tax. Arbaces, in this prefei>ce thou appear'H 
To be the murderer of royal Xe?'xes. 
The circumftances urged are thefe— 
That thou hadft entertained preium.ptuous love 
Ofthismoft honour 'd princeis ; 
For which, by Xei'xes baniflit from the court, 
You fought revenge, and found it in his death. 

Arb. Nay more, V the bloody f\yord, the time, ihs 
And flight, confpire to fix the guilt on me ; 
And yet my heart is free; — I'm innoceiit. 

Artab. Demonftrate that, and fo appeafe the wrath 
Of this offended princefs. 

'= Arb. Ah ! forbear; 
" If you would have me with a fteady mind, 
'' Support my fuMerings, make not the affault 
" In fuch a tender part. — Barbarous father! 

" Artah. Rafh young man, be filcnt. 
" Confider where thou art, and who attends thee. 

" Mas,. Be ftil), my beating heart. — \_Aftck, 

" Ariax. But this thy crime, 
'■' Requires defence, or a fincere repentance. 

*' Alb. My king, I find no crime to be defended, 
*' Nor motive fur repentance : That's my anfwcr. 

" A.rtab. O filial love ! \_AfJc:' 

Man. Whether he plead or not, 
He equally is guilty. — Where is jufticc ? 
is this the father that fhould vindicate 
Jiis murder'd king, and' his own public fliame ? 

Arb. Cruel Mandane ! does thy voice condenm me? 

Mail. Bear up, my heart* [^AJide. 


A R T A .t E R X E S. 23 

Artah. Your juft refcntmcnt, princefs. 
Spurs on my lazy virtue. -- 
Let Perjta then, m Artabanes' rigour, 
Record his juftice and his loyalty.-— \7ake^ the pen. 
My fon I here condemn- -~[6'?^?i5] Arhaces dies. 

'Man. Oh, Gods ! 

Artax. Sufpend a while, the rafli decree. 

[Artabanes ^/-yw the paper to Artaxerxes, 

Artab. *Tis fign'd,my liege-— I have fulfil'd my duty, 

Artax. Unnatural fentence ! 

Sem. O inhuman father. 

Man. Alas, ray tears betray me. 

Arb. Weeps Mandane, 
In pity of my cruel deftiny ? 

Man. Pleafure may ftart a tear, as well as gricfj? 

Artab. Now I have finifht the flern judge's part, 
Permit, O king, the feelings of a father. 
|»ardon, my fon, the effeft of tyrant duty : 
Suffer with patience, and ren>cmber this, 
"llie word of every evil is the fear. 

Arb. My patience, fir, begins at laft to leave mc :: 
'•' In view o' th' world, to find myfelf expofcd 
" A feeming guilty objetl ; all my hopes 
*' Cut ofFi'th' bloom, the morn of life ray end ; 
" Hated by Ferpa, by my king, 
*' And her whom I adore : to know that vou," 
Barbarous fathcr,---(dh, I lofc my life!) 
Adieu.— \_Goirg... 

Artab. I freeze. \_Ajide. 

Man. I die. 

A7-b. St^y r2i(h Arbaces f - \_Relurm?ig. 

Where wofldlt thou go ? Ah, fit, forgive your ion ;■ 
Behold him at your i'eet--- 
Excufe the tran {ports of my frantic grief; 
Shed all my blood, 'tis yours,-— I'll not complain ; 
But kifs the honour'd har>d that fign'd my death. 

Artab. Enough, O rile. 
Thou haft but too much rcafon to lament: 
But know---(0 Gods !;-- Take one embrace and part, 



Arb. By that beloved emhroce, 

By this my for.d adieu, 
Deplore my liaplejs cafe. 

Condemn d, alas I for you. 
Appeafe my love, my truth commend. 
Your f elf preferve, my ^mg defend. 

My fentence I obey, 

To filial duty true ; 
And Jcarce have power to fay 

A long and lajl adieu I [Exit, guarded. 

Man. Ah me ! at poor Arbaces' parting 
I feel the ftroke of death. 

Artab. Mandane, now I hope you're fatisfy'd ; 
For, at the price of my paternal love, I have 
To fate your vengeance, facrificed my fon. 

Man. Savage, no more--- 
Avoid my prefence : dare not to view the light 
Of fun or (tars ; but hide thy cruel head 
Within the deepefl bowels of the earth, 

Artab. Is then my virtue— 

Man. Silence, inhuman ! 

Artab. Did not Mandane s rage excite my juftice ? 

Man. The daughter ought to vindicate the father ; 
But thou, a fadier, fliouldlt have faved thy fon. 

Monfler, away ! 

From chearful day. 
To the gloomy defart fly : 

Paths explore, 

Where lions rear. 
And devouring tigers lie. 

Tho' for food 

They -wade m blood. 
All to fave their young agree ; 

Every creature. 

Fierce by nature, 
Harmlefs is compar'd to thee, [Exit. 

" Artax, 

A R T A X E R X E S. 25 

*' Artax. See, loved Semira, 
*' How heaven confpires the ruin of ArbaoeS. 

" Sem. Inhuman tyrant ! 
'' You firft dettroy your friend, 
"^ And then bewail him. 

" Artax. I, to thy father's will, his life committed ; 
*' How was I then a tyrant ? 
*' All Perfia knows my friendfhip for Arhaces^ 
*' And faithful love to thee. 

*' Sem. I thought you once 
*' A tender lover, and a generous friend ; 
" But in one inftant you have proved yourfelf 
f In friendfhip falfe, and treacherous in love. 

*' This hofom, a fir anger to rejl, 

'* Refentment and piiy ajfail 'y 
" As both for dominion contejl, 

" So both, to my for row, prevail: 
*' My heart, in this defperate fiate, 

" To give each ajjailant its due, 
*' Now bleeds for my brother's hard fate, 

*' And burns with refentment to you, '[Exit." 

Artax. O, Artabanes I 

Ariab. Lament not, fir, but leave complaints to me ; 
I am the mod unhappy of mankind. 

Artax. " Thy woe mufl: needs be great, 
" When mine is infupportable." 
My pity meant, afTigning him to thee, 
That thy paternal love Ihould let him free ; 
But thou a father of affeftion void, 
3y doom of death thy offspring hall deftroy'd. 

Can fait tears or loud lamenting, 

Nozu thy fentcnce pafi prevent, 
Ah. too late is all repenting, 

Tho xoith grief thy heart is rent ; 

D But 


Bvf Jince guiltlefs I believe him, 

I It his defperatejiate attend, 
Fi'om dif graceful chains relieve him, 

Aid hisjlight andjave my friend. 

[Zxit Artaxerxes* J 

J^ecitative accompanied. 

Artah. At length my foul has room t* indulge its 
What racking thoughts furround the guilty breaft — 
O, my dear fon, forgive the piercing woes, 
Which my foul deeds inflift iipon thy youth ; 
I come to fave thee from the jaws of death, 
>\nd pay thy virtues with a kingly throne. 

Thou, like the glorious fun, 
Thy fplendid courfe flialt run : 

What tho' the night, 

Ob [cure his light, 
When prfon'd hi the wejl ; 

The day returns, 

Again he burns, 
The god of day confejl, [Exit. 


[ 27 ] 

ACT III. SCENE, A pri/on. 

A R B A c E s , in a melancholy Pojiure. 


ff/ H Y is death for ever late 

fo conclude a wretch's woe ; 
iThofe who live in happy /late, 
Feel too joon th' untimely blow* 

Enter Artaxerxes. 

Art ax. Arhaccs f 

Arb. Gracious heaven, what's this I fee! 
I>oes royal Artaxerxes deign to vifit 
The wretch Arbaces, in this horrid gloom ! 

Artax. Pity and friendfhip brought me here to fave 

Arb. To fave me ! 

Artax. Yes. That fecret paffage leads 
' To life and liberty ; then quickly fly — 
Kemembcr Artaxerxes, and be happy. 

Arb. Your pardon, fir, the world efleems me guilty; 
Then let me die ; your honour, fir, requires it. 
Happy my exit, having once preferred 
My ibvereign's life, and now his fpotlefs honour. 

Artax. Such noble fentiments can ne'er proceed 
From guilty minds — Beloved Arbaces, fly — 
As friend, I beg thee to preferve thyfelf ; 
But if that fails — as fovereign, I command thee. 

D 2 . Arb. 

2$ A R T A X E R X E S". 

Arh. In gratitude to thy exalted friendfhip, 
I'll quit this fcene of horror and defpair. 
But Oh ! Thus exiled, I fhall only fly, 
Reftlefs to tread the paths of mifcry. 

Water parted from the fea. 

May increafe the 7-ivcr's tide ;. 
To the bubbling fount may flee, 

Or thro' fertile vallies glide : 

Yet in fear ch of lofi repofe, 

Doom'd like me, forlorn to roam, 

Still it murmurs as it flows, 

Till it reach its native home, [[Exit, 

Artax. That front, fecure in confcious innocence, 
Defies the charge of guilt : Affli6lion's veil 
Can never quite eclipfe the inward light, 
That from a noble foul darts forth its rays. 
When in the countenance the heart is fecn. 

Tho' oft a cloud, with envious fiade , 

Conceals the face of day ; 
The fun is fill in flames array d, 
His beams immortal, not decay d : 
Soon the gloomy veil retires ; 

He darts each powerful ray. 
And light and heat expires. {]Exil^ 

'Enter Artabanes, with a train of confpirators. 

My fon, Arbaces—AYhcTQ art thou retired ? 
Sure he fhould hear my voice-— what ho--- Arbaces t 
O heaven—guards, watch the entrance of the prifon, 
TiJl I can find my fon. [£ 


i . 


A R T A X E R X E S, tg 

Enter Rimenes. 

Rim. Not yet arrived ! 
Sir, Jrtabanes ! \_Exit, 

Re-enter Artabanes. 

Artah. O u'ahappy father ! 
My fon I feek in vain— my blood grows cPiill ; 
I fear— I doubt— perhaps in— 

Re-enter Rimenes. 

Rim. Artahanes / 

Artah. Where is Arhaces ? 

Rim. Is he not with you ? 

Artab. O cruel Gods ? th' unfortunate has perifht. 

Rim. Sufpicion always borders on extremes ; 
And might not Artaxerxes or Mundane, 
The friend or lover, have procured his flight ? 
What ftrange delay is this ! — Let's to our taflc; 
Behold the way that leads us to the palace. 

Artab. And what great enterprize Ihall I accompllfb. 
My fon being loft ? 

Rim. What, have you then, for nought. 
Secured the royal guards; and I, the troops ? 
Determine, fir; this mWdiUX. Artaxerxes 
Prepares to take the coronation o th ; 
The facred cup is by your order poifoa'd : 
And fhall we then fo bafcly— - 

Artab. O mv friend ! 
Arbaces loft, for whom ftiould I engage ? 

Riin. Thy fon Arbaces from thy hand expefts 
The throne, if living; and if dead, revenge. 

Artah. That, that alone recalls my fleeting fpirit; 
Lead on, kind friend ; my fate depends on ihec. 
Rim, I'll lead ibcc on to joyful victory. 


go A R T A X E R X E S. 

O kt the danger of a fon 

Excite vindiBive ire ; 
The profpcB of a kingdom won 

Should light ambition's fire. 
To wounded minds, revenge is balm ; 

With vigour they engage, 
And facrifice a pleafing calm, 

To a more pleajing rage. [Exit with confp. 

Recitative accompanied, 

Artah. Ye adverfe Gods ! y'ave found the only way 
To quell my vaft ambition ; perplexing doubt, 
"Whether my fon yet lives, awakens fear; 
And the dire image of defpair fiarts up, 
Unnerves my arm, and checks my daring foul. 

O much loved fon, if death 
Has Jlolen thy vital breath, 

rilfJiare thy haplefs fate ; 
But ere the dagger drinks my bloody 
A murder d king, at Lethe's Jlood^ 

The tidings Jhall relate. 

Bid Charon ceafe from toil. 

And refi upon his oar. 
Till I attain the happy foil, 

Where 'we Jhall part no more, [Exit, 

SCENE, JMandane'j Apartment. 

Enter Mandane and Semira. 

Man. Perhaps the king releafcd Arhaces^ 
&tm. No — rather deftroyed him, 
Man. How ! 



Sem. *Tis known to all ; 
In fecret he refigned his wretched lif(?. 

Man. O haplels youth ! O tidings worfe than death 1 

Sem. I hope your vengeance now is fatisfied — > 
Or would you other vi6lims ? — Speak. 

Man. 1 cannot; 
Light cares are ever foften'd by complaint : 
£ut fuch as mine, arreft the power of fpeech. 

Sem. Ne'er lived a heart more loa to fenfe of pity : 
All eyes in Perjia wail his haplefs fate ; 
But yours are dry. 

Man. The deeper my afflidion : 
Small is the grief that vents itfelf in tears. 

Sem. Go, if not fatisfied, and feaft your eyes 
Upon the flaughter'd fpoils of my dear brother; 
With fecret joy, number his bloody wounds. 

Man. Be filent— -leave me. 

Sem. Never ; while thou liv'ft, 
rU haunt thee like a fpirit, and my wrongs 
Shall dafh thy hopes with bitternefs and woe. 

Man, You think me cruel, and denounce revenge— 
Ah ! how have I" deferved thy enmity ? 

Let not rage, thy bojom firings 

Pity's Jqfter claim remove ; 
Spare a heart that's jufi e::pring, 

Forced by duty, rackt by love. 

Each ungentle thought Jufp ending. 
Judge of mine, by thy Jo ft breajl ; 

Nor with rancour, never ending, 
Heap frejh farrows on th' oppref,- 

Lit not rage, thy hofcm firing, Sec. 


32 A R T A X E R X E S. 

Heaven, that every joy has crojl, 
Ne'er my wretched Jlate can mend ; 

J^ alas, ! at once have lofi, 

Father, brother^ lover, friend. 

Let not rage, &c, [Exit. 

Sen. What have I done ! Alas, I vainly thought, 
Tl.iv'iding grief, to leiTen my affliction ; 
The fe cruel in fults, vented on Handane, 
Have pierced her breail;, and not relieved my ow;i, 

" 'Tis not trw., that in our grief , 

** Others, xDccpiiig in dijircfs, 
'•' To our troubles bring relief, 

" Making each misfortune lejs, 

" No, when/ore cpprefl by fate, 

■ ' Better 'tis to 'figh alone, 
** Ihan fupport a doubts weight, 

*' Otlierijorrows, and our ci07i." fExit, j 

Enter Arbaces. 

Arb. Nor here my fearching ^yx:;s can find Mandanet 
Fain would my heart, before external exile. 
Indulge its fondnefs with a, iait adieu. 
Perhaps, this way— but whither do I wander ? 
Rafh man— -O heavenly pow'rs behold her there ! 
My fpirits fail mc— -yet 1 ii [pca.k—-Mandanc J 

Enter Maud an e. 

Man. Ye powers ! Arbaces ! and at liberty ! 
Arb. A friendly hand unlockt ray cruel fetters, 
Man. Ah ! flv, begone. 




Arl. How can I part, for ever, from fuch beauty ? 
Man. Perfidious traitor ! what wouldft thou with 

me ? 
Ari. Am 1 no longer dear to my Mandane ? 
Man. Thou art become the objefl of my hate. 
Arl. Barbarous maid! my death fliall end thy fcorn. 
fly to meet my fate— -Adieu-— for ever, \_Going» 
Man. Hear me, /trlacts. 
Arh. Ha ! what torture more ? 
Man. I cannot fpeak. 
Arh, O heaven ! 
Man. Fly, fave thyfelf. 
Arh. What means my princefs ?--this returning 

Man. Does not arife from love— but fly— -and live, 


Arb. For thee I live, my dearejl; 

But if I meet difdain, 

For thee, my dear, I'll die* 
Man. How lovely thou appearefl. 
My blu/Jies xviU explain. 

I can no more reply, «• 

Arb. Then hear me, 
Man. No. 
Arb. 'Jhou art — 
Man. Divide not thus my heart : 

Leave me — Jn pity go. 
Both. I'e Gods that torture fo. 

Some timely rejpite fend ; 

When will your torture end ? 

[Exeunt, different ways. 


34 A R T A X E R X E S. 

SCENE, A Temple, and 7 krone, with a Crown cnid 
Sceptre ; the Image of the Sun, with a lighted Altar, 

Artaxerxzs, Artabanes, Nohles, See, 

Artax. To you, my people, much beloved, I offer 
Myfelf, not lefs a father, than a king : 
Your native rights, your cuftoms, and your laws, 
"With jealous care I ever will maintain, 
And raife up treafure in my people's hearts. 

Artab. Here is the facred cup-— 
Your folemn oath muft bind the lading tie : 
Fulfii th'accuftom'd rites— and drink thy death. [Afidc, 

Recitative accompanied, 

Artax. Refplendent God, by whom fweet April 
Thou genial beam, that warms us and enlightens, 
Look awful down ; and if my treacherous lips 
Have utter'd falfhood, may this wholefome draught 
Change, as it pafies, into deadly poifon. 

Enter Semi R a hajlily. 

Sem. Fly quick, my liege ; thoufands of rebel troops 
Surround the palace, by Rimenes led ; 
Your death is plotted, and your guards corrupted. 

Artax. O Gods ! 

Artah. What fear you, fir ? My fingle prefence 
Sliall quell this tumult, and proteQ my king. [_ExiL 

Artax, Away, my friend, to victory or death. 

Enter Mandane. 

Man. Hold, brother, the rebellious crew arc fled. 
Arlax. Say how, Mandant? 



Man. 'Ledhy fa\ih Rimenes, 
They forced the gates, and enter'd, when Arhacts^ 
\DeparUng to eternal banifliment, 
Hks lingle breaft oppofed, and fwore to die 
In his great mafter's caufe : all dropt their arms, 
Except that daring rebel at their head; 
On him Arbaces, like a lion, fiew, 
Clove thro' his helmet, flew him, and revenged thee. 

Ai'tax. Where's my preferver — bring him to my 
' ' arms. \_Exeimt Gficers, zuiih Guards, 

He murder Xerxes ! Impious fupporition ! 

Man. My heart refpircs I 

Sem. O loyal brother! 

Man. Valour fuppreft, now fprings again to glory, 

^he foldier, tired of war's alarms, 
Forjwcars the clang of hojlile arms. 

And f corns the j pear and fhield I 
But if the brazen trumpet found. 
He burns with conqucfl to be crown d. 

And dares again the field. 

Enter Artabanes and Arbaces. 

Arh. Behold, my king, Arbaces at thy feet. 

Artax. O ftill my friend! come to my grateful breaft. 

Man. Yet that my brother may with better grace 
Reward this deed, and fatisfy the people, 
Some reafon give us for the bloody fword, 
Thy timerous flight, and all that waked fufpicion. 

Arb. If deeds, not words, proclaim a loyal heart, 
Permit me to be filcnt-— I am innocent. 

Artax. Confirm it with a folemn imprecation, 
And of a truth, as Perfia's law prefcribes. 
That veflel drain'd fiiall be the facred pledge. 

Arb. I am prepared. 

Artab. O cruel pods! If my fon drinks he dies ! 
£ 2 Recitative 

36 A R T A X E R X E S, 

Recitative accompanied. 

Arh. RelplendentGod. by whom fweety^n'/ blooms. 
Thou genial beam that warms us and enlightens ! 

Ariab [Afidt) O wretched father ! 

Arb, If my treacherous lips 
Have utter'd fallhood, may this wholefome draught 
Change, as it paffes. 

Artah. Hold, 'tis poifon. 

Artax. What fury urged thee to fo vile a deed ? 

Ariab. Away difguife, the draught was meant for 
thee ; 
But my paternal fondncfs has betray 'd me. 
I murder'd Xerxes ; and. to gain the throne, 
Would have deftroy'd thee too. 

Artax. Wretch, thou fhalt die. 
'' Arb. Then I difdain to live. 

Artax. Mandane fliall reward thy fpotlefs virtue; 
And thy fair (liter fliall partake our throne : 
But for that traitor— 

Arb. I will die for him : 
Ivly blood is his, and Ihall atone his crimes. 

Artax. Thy loyalty and virtue, injured youth. 
Shall change his lenience into banifliment : 
Ivlake no reply, his exile is for life. 

Man. Sure heaven inlpired the merciful decree; 
Arbaces snd Stmiia miv approve it; 
Tho' for his the father juftly fuffers, 
His life is fpared, that you, his guiltlefs children^ 
May not be ever wretched in his death. 


''a:rt axe R X E S, 37 

Chorus« Live to us, to empire live f 

Great Augu'tus, long rnayfl thou 
From the JabjeH world receive' 
Laurel wreaths t' adorn thy brow / 

Duetto. Of his country ever free, 

There the royal father fee ! 

To the patron of our laws^ 
Fierce the air with loud applaiife^ 

P u E T T o , Virtue in his foul rejides ; 

In his truth the world confides^ 

Chorus. To the patron of our laws, 

Fierce the air with loud applaiife^ 

Duetto. Pity from the throne defending. 

How ike monarch it endears ; 
When wkh jujiice, mercy blending^ 
in the king a God appears ! 

Duetto. Tyrants claira, with iron fceptre, 
Duty which our fears impart; 
But our gentle kind protestor. 
Monarch reigns o'er every heart. 


38 A R T A X E R X E S. 

Chorus. Lhe to us, to empire live ! 

Great Auguflus, long may ft, thou 
From the fubjeH world receive 
Laurel wreaths t' adorn thy brow ! 

£Exeunt omnes. 


BOOKS printed for W. Lowndss, 

JuJ Publijbedj 

In OiiavOy Price \s. each fenxitdf 

I. CEEING IS BELIEVING, a Dramatic Proverb of One 
*3 Aift, written by Paul Joddrel, Efq. as performed at the 
Theatre Royal, in the Hay-Market. 

2. EmbelliChed with a beautiful and animated Portrait of Mrs. 
Jordan, drawn from Life by Stothard, and elegantly en- 
graved by Angus, THE ROMP, a Mufical Entertainment of 
Two A6ls, altered from Love in the City, by Mr. BickerftaiF, 
as aftcd at the Theatres Koyal in Drury-Lane, and the Hay- 

. Ornamented with a ftriking Likenefs of Mrs. Brown, takea 
from Life by Stothard, and correftly engraved by Scott, THE 
VIRGIN UNMASKED, a Mufical Entertainment, in One 
Aft, altered from Fielding, as reprefented at the Theatres 
Royal in Drury-Lane and Covent-Garden, 

4. lUuftrated with a neat Chara£leriftic Frontifpiece, by thofe 
eminent Artifts D.^dd and Collyer, THE COUNTRY WIFE, 
a Farce in Two Adfs, altered from Wycherly, and performed 
at the Theatre Royal in Covent-Garden. 

j^nJ alfo ill O^avot Price 1 s. 6d. fe-ivedf 

5. Enriched with a capital full length Portrait of Mr. Edwin, 
in the Charafter of Jerry Blackacre, accurately drawn from 
Life in a mafterly Manner by Ryley, and enejraved in a fupe- 
rior Stile by Angus THE PLAIN DEALER, a Comedy in 
Five A£ls, altered from Wycherly by Mr. BickerflafF, as it is 
performed at the Thcatte Royal in Covcnt-Garden, 

BbOKS printed for W. Lowndes. 

Ju/l puijijhcj, making 12 hane^fome Volumes in Duodecimo^ erna" 
mented -wifh upwards of '^Qt Copper-plates, Price 2I. 2s. bound, on 
Common Papery or 3/. i zs. on Royal Paper ^ iMitb Proof Impref- 

fiom i 

T H R 


Containing 60 of the beft Tragedies and Comedies in the 
Kr.glifh Language. Each \''oiLmie ha.s an elegant Vignette Ti- 
tle, and every Play a Frontifpiece, reprefenting ftriking Like- 
nelTes of the moft favourite Adtors and AdrelTes, defigned and 
engraved by the beft Artifts. 

*^* Any of the Plays which comprife the Newo EngUJIy Theatre 
may be had feparatc, price fcd. onx:ominon, or is. on royal paper. 

The following Plays have been printed fince the firft Publica- 
tion of the Neiv EngHfn Theatre^, and in the fame elegant manner^ 

As You Like It 

beggar's Opera 





Henry IV. part I. 

Henry VIII. 


Julius Casfar 

King John 

King Lear 

Lionel and ClarilTa 

Love in a Villa^re 


Maid of the Mill 
Meafure for Meafure 
Merchant of Venice 
-Merry Wives of Windfor 
Much ado about Nothing 

Richard the Third 
Romeo and Juliet 
Taming of the Shrew 

Twelfth Night-:-c«</ 
Winter's Talc 

The under-mentioned have lately been ornamented with new 
Plates, each containing an animated Portrait of Mrs. SipdokSj, 
all drawn by Smiiardf and «ngr.:ved by the moft eminent Artifts: 

Fair Penitent 


Grecian Daughter 

Jane Shore 


Mourning Bride 

Venice Preferred 


Mahomet — and 

The Orphan, -with the Portrait 
of Mifi Brunton 













I lie mi PAR esse deusvidetur, 
lUe, si fas est, superare divos. 








1 HOUGH I am both unwilling and 
unworthy to appear on that public stage, which 
you tread with so much dignity and address, yet 
the acknowledgments due to so great an au- 
thor for the notice you have condescended to 
bestow upon me, overrule my repugnance ; and 
compel me to resort to the press with an answer 
to your favour, which cannot fail to show the 
world how unfit I am to cope with so able a 
correspondent. Mindful, however, of that rule, 
so well understood by your friend Thraso — ■ 

^ AKpro PARI referrCy quodeum mordeat — 

I venture with all deference to address you, not 
aspiring, like you, to edify my country by re- 
marks on the merits or defects of its constitu- 
tion, nor to dazzle my readers with the glitter 
of my periods, but in a few plain words to say 


how very much below their notice I conceive 
the idle matter of our controversy to be ; to 
express, in unoffending terms, my regret that you 
and I should step out of our characters to make 
sport for the lookers-on, and that you should 
so far descend from your high station in litera- 
ture, or I be lifted so much above my lowly 
one, as to be opposed to each other in any way, 
that can resemble a competition on the score 
of talents: in age, in profession, in pursuits I 
may bear such resemblance to you as Patro- 
clus did to Achilles y of whom the poet Statins 
says — 

Par studiis avique modis^ sedrobore longe. 

ACHiLL. i. 176. 

The few facts stated in your miscellaneous 
pamphlet, that can, in any degree, apply to my 
character, are buried under such a profusion of 
ornament, that I should but damage your flowers, 
were I to attempt at digging up your weeds; 
and as I may safely trust to the sagacity of 
your readers for distinguishing those elegancies, 
which are peculiar to your style, from the ex- 


travagance incidental to your temper, I shall 
point my attention to little else but what is gra- 
cious on your part, and does honour to me : in 
this sense I regard the superabundant portion 
of learned quotations you have conferred upon 
me, less than one-half of which, and in one- 
third of the languages, would have been more 
than I can merit ; whereas you have given me* 
Greek, Latin and English in a breath, tria 
guttura pandens, opening upon me with three 
throats, like the dog CerberuSy when I, alas! 
have little else but my mother tongue to defend 
myself with. 

Most learned Doctor, I could have wished 
you would have muzzled two of your mouths at 
least, when you bayed the heels of a poor, plain 
country parson, who meant you no offence, 
and would fain have gone quietly past your 
kennel. Remember what your brother Epi- 
channus says, who was a school-master some 
ages before you brandished the birch — 

• At magnumfecit, quod verbis Graca Latinis 

Miscuit. HO RAT. 



Vent not your noble wrath upon a fly. 

Half the learning you have thrown away up- 
on your humble servant would have contented 
me; half the anger you have drawn forth 
would have sufficed for my offence; and half 
the hard words you have bestowed upon me 
would have been more than enough to have 
shown your want of patience, and my possession 
of it. Had you reduced your pamphlet to a 
sixpenny size, two shillings would have been 
well saved to the purchasers, and your credit 
would not have suffered by the abatement; a 
fifth part of your contempt, a fifth part of your 
politics and a fifth part of your quotations 
would have been as much as the subject called 
for; dilated as it is, I suspect you have proved 
too much, and instead of chastising me, as you 
meant to do, have lampooned yourself, which I 
can well believe was no part of your meaning. 

Your periods have excited admiration ; but 
your pedantry has provoked ridicule : in the 


[ 9 ] 

former line I cannot meet you; and whither 
shall I resort for authors to oppose to yours ? 
How shall I, whose unlucky name exposes me 
to a gulpby escape the precipice on which I 
totter ? Were I to rummage the old classics for 
your prototype, is there a Heathen amongst 
them all, whom 1 dare to name with Doctor 
Parr ? and as for my bible (which is the book 
I am better versed in), I protest to you, on the 
word of a priest, I cannot there discover any 
worthy personage, whom I should have the 
confidence to class with you — 

Cum tibi sit sophice par fama, et cur a deo^ 
Jngenio pietas nee minor ipsa tuo. 

MARTIAL, i. 112. 

You was pleased to say I had noticed you 
from the pulpit, and you demanded an expla- 
nation; I certainly did not make mention of 
any living character in that place, though I con- 
fess I have touched upon the topics of evil- 
speaking and slander: I have also descanted 
against pride ; yet I never quoted any modern 

[10 J 

example of that hateful passion : I hav6 recom- 
mended humility ; but I take truth to witness, 
that in so doing I never had yoii for one mo- 
ment in my thoughts. 

The variety of amusing matter which your 
pamphlet involves, and the elegant samples of 
epistolary writing it is interspersed with (parti- 
cularly in the instance of your correspondence 
with the Honourable Mr.Annesley)^ shed such 
a lustre upon your manners as well as genius, 
that we need not wonder if the noble families 
of this kingdom shall be emulous to prefer their 
sons to your tuition, as to the master of good 
breeding, the mirror of erudition, the Socrates 
of the age : with one voice the whole parental 
corps of our nobility will cry out in the words 
of my motto — 

Jllc mi PAR esse deiis videtiir^ 
Ille, si fas est, sit per are divos. 

Two pages only (viz. 128, 129) you Jiavc 
lavished upon your humble servant, and I may 
say without the flattery of a parasite — 

Pidchre mehercle dictum et sapienter — Pa- 
Jugulasti hominem. 

You there conclude your address with the fol- 
lowing menace — 

With other chapmen you may safely barter; 
Beware o/" Hector, or you'll catch a tar- 

Since you have taken to yourself the name 
o? Hecto^y Hector be your name! and let us 
cry out in the language of the drama — 

That's Hector, that^ that^ look you, that! 
There's a fellow — Go thy way. Hector, O brave 
Hector ! How he looks ! There's a countenance ; 
it does a man's heart good. Look you what 
backs are on his helmet; there's no jesting, 
there's laying on ; take 't off who will, as they 
say, he cares not: an' the devil come to him, 
it's all one, troil. and cress. 

What shall I say now ? 

'Tis done like Hector, but securely done, 
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing 
The knight that is opposed. 

Shall I answer you like Achilles f — 

Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his 

Shall I destroy himf whether there, or 

there ; 
That I may give the local wound a name. 
And make distinct the very breach, whereout 
Hector*s great spirit Jlew? 

I will not answer thus; I will not so offend 
against the modesty of speech : I confess I am 
no match for Hector. 

Non illi quisquam bello se conferet heros. 

Yet I will say, and I will shelter myself under 
the authority of the elegant Menander for the 
justice of my remark — 

'A7ravT£?, Qi (pv<r(a]/Tsg l(p sauroif {/.iyoi! 

[13 ] 

Oh I wretched, vain and despicable elves, 
Whom pride puffs up until you puff your^ 
selves ! 

That you have not studied the old maxim, 
to know yourself, good Doctor, is beyond a 
doubt ; if there was no other proof of it, but 
your mistaking yourself for Hector, this one 
■would be enough ; but I suspect you have not 
attended to the better rule — p^no-ijtAWTf/soi/ h to 
Tvu^i ra? aAXx? — your standard seems neither 
to measure other people's stature, nor your 

;| Let us suppose for one moment that you are 
I no more like to Hector than I to Hercules, 
\ where shall we go to seek a resemblance for 
you? Homer has but one hero,* that comes 
\ near you, and him I will not name, because as 
you did not sit for the picture, it is very hard 
upon the picture that it should sit for you ; nei- 
ther party would be well pleased : the Drances 
of Virgil touches in some points ; the miles 

• Some readers may suppose that Thersites is here 
pointed at. 


gloriosus of Plautus has a feature or two j but 
I am sorry it has not been in my power to ob- 
tain a portrait of Eombomachides Clunin- 
sTARiDYSARCHiDEs, general of the Gurgusti- 
donianSy and grandson to the god Neptune ; I 
flatter myself there would have been a family 
likeness : as for ThrasOy I should blush to name 
him in the same page ; he is a mere 7nuta per~ 
sona compared with you. But now that we are 
in the region of the drama, I do recollect a de- 
lightful fellow, by name Holof ernes (the 
school-master in Love's Labour Lost)^ whom 
I beg leave to introduce to you in the words of 
the comedy — 

T)id he not educate youth in the charge-house 
on the top of the mount ain^ or mons, the hill?* 
Novi hominem tanquam te. His humour is lofty. 
bis discourse peremptory^ his tongue filed, his 
eye ambitious, his gait majesticaly and his gene^ 
ral behaviour vain, ridiculous, and Thrasonical.^ 

* Meo periculo read Ha kkow on the hill. 


f Speaking of Holof ERNES, the pedagogue in Lovers 
Labour Lost, be said, — " ■4ffs^ ^^^ '^ tnnst be confessed 


O rare Holofernes ! I really think, my good 
Doctor, his cap will fit you : let me prevail with 

you to try it on Well ! I protCvSt it becomes 

you mightily — Nay, brandish not your rod at 
me — 

Eone esferox^ quia babes imperium in pue- 

But listen to Sir Nathaniel the curate. — 

Perge, good master Holofernes , perge, so it 
shall please you to abrogate scurrility — 

HoLOF. This is a gift that I have (viz. 
Scurrility) ; simple^ simple ! a foolish extrava- 
gant spirit Jull of forms y figures y shapes, object s, 
ideas y apprehensions , notions , revolutions — 
(O nobile Par !) These are begotten in the ven- 

" that the rogue (sc- Sbakspeare ) hud a lucky knack in 
** the delineation of character: There is yiothing want- 
*' ing but for our friend Reynolds to put a birchen rod 
** in his band, and he would make your posteriors, Sir, 
" tingle to behold him." 

Boswell's Life of Johnson, p. 3001. 

• Belluas ^o/iM5 — in verbum iranspositum misera- 

biliter ludit. Bellend. Sec. 

C 16 J 

tricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia 
mater t and delivered upon the mellowing of oc- 
casion ; but the gift is good in those in whom it 
is acute, and I am thankful for it. 

Surely, surely, when Shakspearc wrote he 
prophesied of thee ! But hear the courteous 
curate, meek Nathaniel — 

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and 
so may my parishioners, for their sons are well 
tutored by you, and their daughters profit greatly 
under you ; you are a good member of the com- 

Keep the cap on, I beseech you, good Doc- 
tor, for Hclofernes is about to open, and take 
my word for it — 

-de te 

Fabula narratur- 

Ho LOF. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, 
they shall want no instruction ; if their daugh- 
ters be capable, I will put it to them (Oh fie, 
Holofernes I) ; but vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. 

[ >7] 

fThat arrow is wide of the mark ; that does 
not hit you, good Doctor.] I do dine to-day at 
the father's of a certain pupil of mine, where if 
(beifig repast) it shall please you to gratify the 
table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I 
have with the parents of the aforesaid child, or 
pupil, undertake your ben venuto, where I will 
engage to prove, or rather by a kind of insinua- 
tion, as it were in via, in the way of explication, 
facere as it were replication ; or rather osten- 
tare to shew as it were this same Costard,* 
[meaning me] after his undressed, ujipolished, 
uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather u?i- 
lettered, or rather est unconfirmed fashioni to be 
a monster of ignorance, twice-sod simplicity. 

* Costard, quasi Curtius. 

f Est ct 'TTMovxai/.oq vitium, cum supervacuis verbis 
oner atur or alio. (Qui ntil. lib. viii.) Vide nostrum 
Parr passim. anonym. 

Proh bominem insuhum prorsus et infacetum ! Nonne 
iiugcri debent sententice et insurgerc ? Ut optime Cicero 
-— " Tu, inquit, istisfaucibus, istis lateribus, istd gladia- 
" t or id tot ins corporis Jirmitate." bellend. sec, 


[ .8] 

bis coctus. [Many thanks to you. Doctor Ho- 
lofernes! Quid agis, dulcissime rerum? but 
keep your cap on nevertheless; stir it not to 
me, I pray you!] jS/V, he hath never fed on the 
dainties that are bred in a book, he hath not eat 
paper as it were, he hath not drank ink ; his in- 
tellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, 
only sensible in the duller parts. 


Is it 7wt like ? 

As thou art to thyself. hamlet. 

Here's a pleasant fellow! is he not? Beshrew 
me. Doctor, if the two Sosias were better paired 
than you and Holof ernes. It is as a man 
may say, par pari. Castor and Pollux were 
scarce cater-cousins, compared to such a loving 
couple — 

Oiae nova tain similes genult tibi Leda mi- 
nistros f 

One epithet may serve you both — 

-fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloan- 


[ >9] 

As the two kings of Brentford had but one 
nosegay, so, if it was not that you and Holo- 
F ERNES luckily had but one cap between you, 
I could not tell which was which: no longer 
now that swaggering son of Troy, you are fallen 
into your proper class, and are — 

Quantum mutatus ab illo 

Hectorz ! 

My life upon it, you were both born under Ge~ 
mlniy and if you will take the word of an astro- 
loger for the influence of the stars, you shall 
find the following to be the proper character- 
istics of all, whose nativity is cast under that 
sign — 

Garrulitas odiosa datur, linguceque venenum 
Verba maligna novas semper juussantis ad 
aures. manilius, lib. iv. 

A tongue^ whose odious clack tio flesh can 

Whispering its venom into every ear. 


[ 2o] 

You see by this that your * twin-brother Holo- 
femes had good reason for calHng his scurrility 
a gift, he was born to it ; 'twas his fate — 

His star was f?wre in fault than be. 

I scorn however to disguise a doubt, that 
may be started as to the place in the heavens, 
which I have here assigned to you, aware as I 
am that the poetical astrologer above quoted 
has cast the nativity of all pedagogues under the 
constellation Aquarius, (ManiliuSy lib. iv.) 
ascribing to its influence Tutorisque superciliufH; 
but this I am content to refer to the critics, as- 
sured that wherever you are finally located in 
the sphere. Ho lof ernes will be found close 
at your elbow ; duo viri manibus per mutua 
connexis — And verily, illustrious Sir, it were but 
a vain and presumptuous attempt in me to pro- 
nounce where you will perch — 

* Quadam ordine permutato Jiiint supcrvacua, ut 
FRATRES GEMINI, fQuiNT.lib. IX.) Oljc ! quiimin- 
(pte garrit Cavillator nosier improbus! 


[21 ] 

-cmn statione peractd 

Astra petes — 

When^ spurning this terraqueous globe, you 
take your flight amidst the stars — 

tibi numine ab onini 

Cedetur^jurisque tid natiira relinquef, 
Quis * deiis esse veils 

But we beseech you, most ponderous Sir, when 
you bestride the narrow globe ^ like a Colossus, 
that you will be pleased to sit plump in the 
saddle, not throwing your weight out of its ba- 
lance, being well aware — 

JEtheris immensi partem si presseris imam, 
Sentiet t axis onus — 

Above all things, gracious demi-god, have 
consideration for your poor surviving country- 
men and fellow-subjects of Great Britain, and 

•Par domus est ccclo, scd minor est domino. 


f Par onusut tulcrint. 

[22 ] 

do not (we pray you do not) have any partial 
bias, or wriggling side-way leanings towards a 
certain spot upon the globe, called France, but 
keep your rump in a faithful perpendicular over 
dear Old England, and sit not askew in any such 
fashion — 

Unde tuam videas obliquo siderc Romam* 

Though you have not been conspicuous for 
keeping peace upon earth, hold sacred, we con- 
jure you, the harmony of the spheres, and al- 
though Cicero said, in time long past — Stella- 
rum numerus par an impar sit nescio, (Acad. 
Quasi, iv. lo.) let that no longer be a doubt 
with us, but give us to know you are one of the 
number by the favour which you shall show us — 

For when the planets 
In evil mixture to disorder wander, 
What plagues and what portents, what mu- 

* Terrarum dea gentiumque Roma, 

Cui PAR est nihil — 

Obe! jam satis est I beLl. sec. 


IVhat raging of the sea, shaking of the earth. 
Commotion in the winds, frights, changes, hor~ 

Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
The unity and married calm of states 
Quite from their fixture ! Oh! when degree is 

JVhich is the ladder to all high designs. 
The enterprize is sick. How could communi- 
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities. 
Peaceful commerce from shores dividable. 
The primogeniture and due of birth. 
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
But by degree, stand in authentic place? 
Take but degree away, untune that string. 
And hark, what d'^cord follows ! Each thing 

In mere oppugnancy* shakspeare. 

* All this I deny, and tot is viribiis impugn. 


f I do accuse thee here, Cremutius Cordus, 
To be a man factious and dangerous, 
A sower of sedition in the state; 


In one word, Sir, whatever becomes of you, 
or wherever you dispose of yourself after your 
apotheosis, you are — mihijam niimen. 

Dignified therefore as you are, deified as 
you will be, is it fitting that you (a st?ir elect) 
should commit your character to these petty 
squabbles, writing grave prefaces to apologize 
for ridiculous pamphlets, and playing the buf- 

Ut pueris place as et declamatio jias-^ 

Appealing to the public upon facts, which the 
public does not care one straw about, calling a 
jury of readers to decide upon a suit, forsooth, 
— de tribiis capellis — and paying them for their 
subpoena, not in sterling coin, which we know 

A turbulent and discontented spirit. 

Which Iwill prove from thine own writings here. 

The annals tbou hast published, where thou bifst 

The Constitution with a viper's tooth. 

Which never yet degcnerous bastard did 

Upon his parent — b e n . j o n so n . Sejanus. 


that you abound in, but m Birmingham counters, 
that have not the merit even of pure brass, but 
are stamped out of mixt metal, adulterated and 
debased — ? 

O rem ridiculam, Cato, et jocosami 

And what to gain by it ? What conquest to bring 
home? To triumph over me, forsooth — me, a 
mere country parson, a tame parish priest ; to 
overwhelm my weak intellects with a torrent of 
Greek and Latin; not only to turn your own 
stout wit against me, but the wits of all the an- 
cients, whom I never offended. Peace to their 
manes! What have I done to ^schylus and 
Pindar ^ that they should fasten upon me ? Did 
I ever liken the seven Birmingham rioters to 
the seven chiefs before Thebes? Let jEschylus 
prove it against me if he can : therefore — 

Eiria-^ig srog, w ttoAutj/ajit' Aio-p^uAf, 

'Atto tuv p^aAa^wf. ARISTOPH. 

Batter me not with words, time-honour'd 

IVhichfall like hail, as cutting and as hard. 


Did I compare the burning of the conventicles 
to the festival of ihtOlympic games ? I challenge 
P/;zc?«rto make good the charge ; and Sophocles 
too, and Euripides above all the rest — how have 
I angered them that they should worry me, as they 
do ? Let the latter, at least, look well to his own 
heels, for, if I mistake not, he should know, by 
woeful experience, what it is to fall amongst curs, 
having got his death by their teeth ; as for So^ 
phocleSy let him remember that it was not ow- 
ing to his stingy but to his honey ^ he obtained 
the tide of the Athenian Bee. In short, say it 
I will, and I include them all in my reply — 

'AfJpa? 7roj»)Taf, u(nnf> «pT07rwA»^a?. IBID. 

It jits not men renowned in ancient song 
To outgo Billingsgate in force of tongue. 

Of Aristotle, Quintilian and even Plato, I 
do not much complain, seeing it is but natural 
for one pedagogue to retain another; but for 
that puppy Priscian, he deserves to have his 
bead broken for thrusting it into the fray, and if 
you had not done it for him yourself, I would. 


With regard to that son of a blacksmith^ De^ 
mostheneSy I care not for what he says ^ he will 
abuse any body : he is a special pleader — 

Ep^oi/T ccj^aAji/oi', a>cp«T£c, aTruXcoTov ?tcu«, 
A-TTfpiAaAjiTOV, )4oy.7ro9a^H£Aopp7^,w.l3^a. ARISTOPH. 

A tongue^ that without bridle madly goeSy 
And lips, that nothing but a fee can close ^ 
Sputf'ring, with mighty froth and flutter. 
Long-winded words, all strut and stutter. 

That Demosthenes should draw his pen in your 
service I cannot wonder, and if the story be 
true that he always carried poison in it, secretly 
secured, I have only to remark that the pen 
was not the less fit for certain purposes; yet 
recollect, good Doctor, that the poison proved 
not mortal to others, but to himself, and take 
warning from his fate ; he sucked the fatal pen, 
and died. 

I discover Plutarch also amongst your advo- 
cates — Be it so! I recollect ilmt Sas Bceotica 
was a reproach proverbially applied to all his 
countrymen : wc have also a vulgar saying — 
Cat will after kind — and so will swine : I have 


ftothing more to say to Plutarch and his 

But you descend also into the lower ages to 
pick up recruits in the persons of Gregory of 
Nazianzen^ Eusebiiis and Sozomen. I own I 
could not have expected it from them, and I 
must say (let them take it how they will), it is 
not well done of them to set parsons together 
by the ears. 

You, who are yourself a host, were surely 
ill advised to take confederates into your pay ; 
in single combat lies your strength ; there you 
had been invincible : but when you betake 
yourself to inlisting mercenaries, I believe I 
have got together as strong a phalanx of allies 
as you have, and my Croats will so belabour 
you, that I expect to hear you cry out, like poor 
Metaphor in the Tale of a Tub^ 

BeH known unto youy by these presents ^ all. 
That /, Miles Metaphor, a clerk of wor- 
Have ev'n been beaten to an allegory 
By multitude of hands : had they been but 

C 29 ] 

Some Jive or six^ I had whipped them all like 

In Lent, and hurVd them into Hobler's hole. 
Or the next ditch ; I had crack'd all their 

As nimbly as a squirrel will crack nuts j 
And Jiourish' d like to Hercules the porter 
Among the pages ; but when they came ofi 
Like bees about a hive, crows about carrion. 
Flies about sweetmeats, nay, like watermen 
About a fare, then was poor Metaphor. 
Glad to give up the honour of the day. 
To quit his charge to them, and run away 
To save his life, only to tell this news. 


I have now nothing more to remark upon 
your counsel in the learned languages, but to 
tender my most respectful compliments to three 
very obliging gentlemen, whom you have called 
to the bar by the names of Alexis, Ainphis and 
Antiphanes. To these gentlemen I am under 
particular obligations, inasmuch as they were 
pleased, in regard of my ease and accommoda- 

[ 30 ] 

tion, to take their pleadings out of the Greek 
type, and graciously to render them in the Eng- 
lish character, by which they became legible at 
least, if not intelligible, to their very humble 
servant the culprit: this is a mark of politeness 
which few authors of their high rank would 
have stooped to. Some of my own coun- 
trymen (and one in particular whom I could 
name) contrive to disguise even their own mo- 
ther tongue in such a manner, as sometimes 
puzzles my poor brain to find out what they 
mean, or, indeed, whether they mean any 
thing : How unlike are such aenigmatists to 
these candid authors ! these wish to be under- 
stood; the others seem to think their obscurity 
to be their merit, and, if it be a merit, I can 
well believe it is their only one. 

I will say a few words, therefore, to each of 
these gentlemen in their order, and first and 
foremost to Signor Alexis. 

This gentleman is called upon to depose to 
the following assertion : take it in his own or- 
thography — 


Hofkos bebaios est'uiy an neuso moms. 

Vide PARR, p. 152. 

I believe he dictated monon and not monos; 
but that I take to be the blunder of his amanu- 
ensis ; I apprehend he is speaking of an oath, 
and the sum total of his testimony, if expressed 
in Latin, might, as I humbly conceive, be thus 
rendered — -jirmum estjurainentum, si solum an- 
nuero — which is as much as to say, in our ver- 
nacilar idiom — ■ 

The oath is jinn, I clinch it with a ?iod : 
'Tis all the same as if I swore by G — d. 

Jupiter, I know, had this trick oi nodding whefi 
he swore, and as our learned Doctor deus esse 
videtur\ he also 

Assumes the god. 
Affects to nod, 
ylnd seems to shake the spheres. 

But whether this will pass muster with a Chri^'- 
tian jury, let the Christian parson, who adduces 
it in evidence, take upon himself to make good; 


I presume he recollects there is a certain book 
put into the hand of him that is sworn ; but 
whether he thinks that to be a nugatory form, 
or not, is for him to declare. The gentleman, 
who is for passing it off with a iiod^ I am taught 
to believe was a writer of comedies : my infor- 
mation also tells me he was a man of most dis- 
solute morals, a profest voluptuary, and, upon 
the authority of Plutarch (the Boeotian bog), 
he is said to have composed an entire treatise 
upon sensual pleasure : he was also by his coun- 
trymen nicknamed the Glutton with the wide 
swallow ; he may, therefore, be well supposed 
to make no bones of an oath: he might, per- 
haps, have been educated in the custom-house 
at the Piraus, but for this I have not even 
Boeotian authority ; I leave the Doctor, there- 
fore, with his boon companion, nodding like 
Homer in his easy chair, and pass to the next, 
which is Aniphis. 

This gentleman, who was also a writer of co- 
medies, is subpcEua'd for the following important 
purpose : the Doctor has happily discovered a 
scrap of one of his plays, where somebody says 


[33 3 

(he knows not who) on some occasion, (he 
knows not what). 

Host is gar omnuonti meden peithetai, 
Autos epiorke'm radios epistatai. 

Vide PARR, ^. 152. 
Or trust me when I pledge my troth. 
Or I'll not trust you on your oath. 

This is all the gentleman has to say, and I 
will take it on his word rather than incur the 
consequences of suspecting him; I have no 
questions to ask either of him or the Nodder. 

And now, (though last not least in favour) 
welcome, good Antiphanes, thou son o[ (Enoef 
thou hadst a fluent pen, old gentleman, and 
didst write comedies, as thy client does pam- 
phlets, stans pede in uno. Thy evidence is a 
little more dilated than that of Alexis, but it is 
directly to the same point; your depositions I 
confess agree. This is the sentiment of the 
sage Antiphanes — and it is addressed to some 
lady of fashion, whose name the Doctor either 



does not know, or does not think fit to dis- 
close — 

Despoin'! hotan tis omniwntos kataphrone. 
Ho ??ie sunoide proteron epiorkebotiy 
Houtos kataphrcnein tofi theon emoi dokei, 
Kaiy proteron omosas, autos epiorkehenai. 

PARR, 152. 

Which is as much to say, addressing himself to 
some dame of quality, and taking his client in 
his hand — " May it please your ladyship, I pre- 
" sent this reverend person to you, as one who 
" puts no faith in the veracity of his neighbours j 
" and I have only to remark, that suspicion is 
" at best a coward's virtue." 

Doctor ! have your advocates any thing far- 
ther to say ? If they have, let them say it ; if 
not, let them for ever after hold their tongues. 
— Shew the gentlemen out of court! — usher 
them io Stobcsus,hom\^hom they came! — fare- 
well, Alexis, Amphis and Antiphanes. Most 
courteous triumvirate, farewell.' 

[35 ] 

Most learned Doctor, is not this poor spell- 
ing at a pun ? mere handicraft wit, the manu- 
facturing of a jest? Greek metamorphosed into 
English characters — which you may see done 
by Fielding in his novels with much more 
point and humour. It is not scholar's, but 
school-boy's play, it is properly speaking — 

Ludere par impar, equitare in arundine 

And do you suppose we cannot track you 
where you have been poaching for these notable 
quotations? Yes, Doctor, I call it poaching, be- 
cause it is plain they are not game of your own 
starting, but had been run down by Stob^us, 
out of whose fowling-bag you slily pilfered 
them. Every one of them, together with your 
single line from JEschylus at the bottom of your 
page 152, your scrap also from Sophocles' s Hip- 
podamia, and the two lines from Alexis in. 
page 153; in short, the sum total of yont 
Greek, in type natural or type masked, is 
C 2 


every syllable to be found in page 121 of 
Stobaus's Florilegium^ in^i, 0^x3. 

Una est in nostris fua, Fidentine, libellis 
Pag IN A, sed cert a do?nini signcta figurd. 
Qua tua traducit manifesto carmina furto. 

Most mighty Master of Scholars I this is an 
unscholar-like trick; it is not fair sporting in the 
field of letters; it is what a school-boy would call 
cribbing. Had you beaten the ground fairly, 
you might have found more, ay and better, 
birds of the same feather even in Antiphanes's 

Here, reader, you behold the formidable giant 
of the race of Harapha, who with five fingers 
and a thumb on each hand could not contrive to 
turn over more than one poor page ofStobaus, or 
walk a step forwards without his leading-strings: 
and now in return for the contempt, reverend 
Sir, which you meant to fix on me by your 
quotations, take to your consideration the fol- 
lowing /^^/^, so shall the good rule be verified 
in your person — nox^e poena par estof 

I pray you give good heed unto the fable. 

" Toil must think this, that the worm will do 
** his kind: look you, the worm is not to be trust- 
* ' ed, hut in the keeping of wise people ; for in- 
** deed there is no goodness in the worm. 


I omit the moral, trusting to your ready ap- 
plication of it— 

Asinus pelle leonis indutus* 

Exuvias Asinus Gatuli forte leonis 

Repperit, et spoliis induit era novis, 
Aptavitque suis incongrua tegmina membris, 

Et miserum tanto pressit honore caput : 
Ast tibi terrihilis animo circumstetit horror ^ 

Pigraque prasumptus venit in ossa vigor ; 
Mitibus ille feris communia pahula calcans, 

T'urbabat pavidos per sua rura hoves : 
Rusticus hum magn^ postquam deprendit alt 

Correptum vinclis, verheribusque domai. 


Et simid ahstracto denudans corpora tergo^ 
Inarpat Ids mlserum vocihas ille pecus — 

'* Forsilan i^nolos miitato nomme felUs, 

* ' At mihif qui quondam, semper asellus eris,' 


A certain pedant in an angry freak 
Stiimhled by chance upon a page of Greek ; 
With frequent conning oer and o'er at last 
He got it in his teeth, and held it fast : 


Dubitanti mibi, parr jucundissime, quonam litte- 
rarum titulo nostri nominis memoriam mandarermis, fa- 
bulariim textus occurril, quod in his urbane concepta 

falsitas deceat, et non incumbat necessitas veritatis. 
Nam quis tecum de oratione, quis dc re politicd loque- 
retur, cum in utroque litter arum genere et Atticos 
Gr/eca eruditione superes, ^^Latinitate Romanos? 
Huhes ergo opus, quo animum oblectes, ingenium exer- 
ceas, solicttudinem leves, totumque vivendi ordinem 
CAUTUs ugnoscus. Loqui vero arbores,feras cum bo- 
minibus gemere, verbis certare volucres, animalia rider e 

fdcitnus, ut pro singulorum jiecessitatibus vet ah ipsis 
animis sententia proferatur. 

Dct tibijuppiter om. ut inlegendo mulium proficias! 

Vale, et nos aina. 


Fierce as a masiiff^ growling o'er a hone, 

He moutJid and mumbled it, as Uwere his own : 

Away ran all his neighbours in a fright, 

IT he coimlry parsons trembled at his sight. 

At length Apollo pluck' d him by the ear. 

And whispering said— my friend, what hast thou 

here ? 
Greek, quoth the pedant — When the God in haste 
Whipp'dout the morsel, which he could not taste-—' 
" T^hy tricks,'' he cried, " on travellers may pass; 
*' On me they're lost — I know thee for an ass,'' 


The fable truly is but an indifferent fable, 
yet the moral is not amiss — 

Audit quod non vult qui pergit dicere quod 

Therefore, my good Doctor, tolle jocos, for if 
the joke consists in nothing more than turning 
a page of Greek into English characters, or a 
worthy alderman into ridicule because he is fat, 
'r-non est jocus esse malignum. 


Hrot TTOvrtpog avTog ktti roig TtfOTTOif, 
H wavT<X7racri ttoci^xois yvcojAnv £p^£». 


X6^ m«« by love of calumny beguiVd 
Is foul at hearty or weaker than a child. 

And now no more — If I have endeavoured ta 
retort a litde harmless raillery upon you, take 
it not amiss, nor believe that I am wanting in 
respect for the more worthy and brilliant quali- 
ties in your character. Heaven is my witness, 
I would not wound one noble part about you ; 
and only point my feeble strokes at those extra- 
neous foibles, which, if you threw from you, 
you would live the happier with the better part. 
You certainly meant to set your foot upon my 
neck and crush me, but the trodden worm will 
turn ; you treated me contemptuously as one, 
■whose very name you held unworthy to appear 
in the same page with your own ; unworthy it 
would be, I do acknowledge, even of the lowest 
rank, in that scale of literary merit, where you 
have a right to be found ; there I should know 

[4> 3 

my distance, and stand oflF with due humility; 
your reader I shall gladly be, your rival never; 
but you seem to have forgot thr.t I am your fel- 
low-creature. Sir, and fellow-servant in the mi- 
nistry of peace : you treated me with unmanly 
scorn, unmerited and intolerable; your anger 
kept no bounds ; the irritation of your mind 
tinctured with gall a pen, that could discourse 
sweet language, clothe wisdom in her fairest at- 
tire, give morality a charm to make instruction 
lovely, elevate the humblest subject and adora 
even the sublimest; from that pen, as from a 
clear and copious spring, there might have 
flowed a stream to feed a city, a whole nation ; 
but you suffered contumely to pollute it; it 
became unwholesome, bitter as the waters of 
Marahy and men turned aside from it with 
loathing ; therein your private fault became a 
public wrong ; by holding your opponent in 
too much contempt you forfeited a victory, 
which your natural superiority would else have 
insured to you ; assuming more than modesty 
could warrant, you lost what genius might else 


have commanded — the respect and the applause 
of your readers : it will ever be the fate of ar- 
rogance J the world will always say — 

Non placet ille mihi quisquis placuit sibi mul- 


Having commenced with a preface, that Cicero 
might have been proud to own, you proceeded 
to petulancies that Zoilus would have been 
ashamed of; this was intemperate : you drew 
out your whole artillery against a cottage, that 
you might have walked into unarmed; this 
was impolitic : you made that a contest of quo- 
tations, which a little common sense and com- 
mon English might have settled without any 
contest whatever ; this was unworthy of you : 
our frivolous dispute by your management of 
It became — \)'^iXo(puv Xoyuiv xoov^ocioXx vaxn, <TKiv- 
^oiXfAU]/ T£ TTiz^x^cvix — You Icvellcd your quota- 
tions at me with an air of insult, which you 
strove to make as galling as you could by tricks 
and quirks of the pen, which a scholar should 
have been ashamed of; aiming to publish my 


ignorance, you exposed your own ill-nature. 
Quotations are at best a poor pedantic shift ; a 
margin may be filled at a very easy rate, and 
you, who are so well qualified to write what 
others may quote, should have disdained to 
charge with any weapons but your own. When 
you exchange your golden armour for the rusty 
worn-out leavings of the ancients, you make as 
bad a bargain as Glaucus did with Dio??ied ; 
nay, you do worse, instead pf standing fore- 
most in the fight, you become a mere follower 
of the camp, a pillager of the field of battle, a 
gleaner of the fragments and splinters, which 
the nobler combatants have left as plunder to 
the idlers in the rear. 

So much for your ^vy-ccTo, iTTTroQccfAovx (your 
high-prancing words); they are now fairly li- 

Ja?n sumus ergo pares. 



A N 




I N 




Firft A£led (in the Hay-market) on Saturday, Auguft ii, 1787. 




Printed for G, G. J. and J. ROBINSON, Patir-noster-kow. 




O W tij 

^ Q ^ 

a: Q> 

< << 

Oh C^ Q 




eq -, ai 

W < W 

M =p O 




s s s s s s 



•7- ^ T3 g 

"? .is M c^ 

►5 (^ S U 


.a -a ^ 

>-i l-i o 

>- 2 ^ 



^ « 







«3 tid W 1^ Z W 





s s s ^ :§ ^ 



S 1^ 5 u ti rt 

^ i^ U S ,H S 


H < »! 

O H >H ^ 

IZ Iz; E-i [^ 

kJ O < o 

►^ « « « « 

l<S »-i U, t, I-c 

^ ! I I I 


^ . . . • 

*-• *- r> tL 























«<5 4> 

INKLE and Y A R I C O : 

A N 



An American Fore/i. 

i^edium (without). ][J_ILLI bo! ho! 

Trudge (without). Hip ! hollo ! ho !— Hip !— — 

Enter Medium and Trudge. 

Med. Pfliaw ! it's only wafting time and breath. 
Bawling won't perfuade him to budge a bit fafter* 
Things are all alter'd now ; and, whatever weight it 
may have \nfo?iu places, bawling, it feems, don't go 
for argument, here. Plague o'nt ! we are now in the 
wilds of America. 

Trudge. Hip, hillio— ho — hi !- 

Med. Hold your tongue you blockhead, or 

Trudge. Lord I Sir, if my mafter makes no more 

hafte, we fliall all be put to fword by the knives of the 

nativ-es. I'm told they take off heads like hats, and hang 

'em on pegs in their parlours. IVIercy on us I My head 

A 3 aches 


aches with the very thoughts of it. Holo ! Mr. Inkle ! 
mafter ; holo ! 

Med. Head aches ! Zounds, fo does mine with your 
confounded bawling. It's enough to bring all the na- 
tives about us ; and we fhall be ftrlpt and plunder'd in a 

Trudge. Aye; ftripping is the firft thing that would 
happen to us; for they feem to be woefully off for a 
wardrobe. I myfelf faw three, at a diftance, with lefs 
clothes than I have when I o;et out of bed : all dancing: 
about in black buff; juft like Adam in mourning. 

Med. This is to have to do with a fchemer! a fel- 
low who rifques his life, for a chance of advancing his 
intereft. — Always advantage in view! Trying, here, to 
make difcoveries that may promotehis profit inEngland. 
Another Botany Bay fcheme, mayhap. Nothing elfe 
could induce him to quit our foraging party, from the 
fhip ; when he knows every inhabitant here is not only 
as black as a pepper-corn, but as hot into the bargain — 
and /, like a fool, to follow him \ and then to let him 
loiter beliind.— Why, Nephew !--Why,Inkle. — [calling) 

Trudge. Why, Inkle Well ! only to fee the dif- 
ference ot men ! he'd have thought it very hard, now, if 
I had let him call fo often after me. Ah ! I wifh he was 
calling after me now, in the old jog-trot way, again. 
What a fool was I to leave London for foreign parts ? 

That ever I fhould leave thread neadle-ftreet, to 

thread an American foreft, where a man's as foon loft 
as a needle in a bottle of hay ! 

Med. Patience, Trudge! Patience! If we once re- 
cover the fhip— — — «. 

Trudge. Lord, fir, I (hall never recover what I have 
lofl: in coming abroad. When my mafter and I were in 
London, I had fuch a mortal fnug birth of it ! Why, I 

Med. Fa(5lotum to a young merchant is no fuch line- 
cure^ neither. 

Trudge. But then the honour of it. Think of that. 
Sir; to be clerk as well as own tnan. Only confider. 
You find very few city clerks made out of a man, now- 



a-days. To be king of thecounting-houfe, as well as 
lord of the bed-charrber. Aii ! if I had him but now 
in the little dreiTing -room behind the office ; tying his 
hair, with a bit ot red tape, as ufual. 

Med. Yes, or writing an invoice in lampblack, and 
Ihining his (hoes with an ink-bottle, as vjua\ you blun- 
dering blockhead ! 

Trudge. Oh if I was but brufhing the accounts, or 
cafting up the coats ! mercy on us ! What's that ? 

Med. That! What? 

Trudge. Didn't you hear a noife ? 

Med. Y — es~but — hufh ! Oh heavens be prais'd ! 
here he is at laft. 

Enter Inkle. 

Now nephew ' 

Inkle. So, Mr. Medium. 

Med. Zounds, one wou'd think, by your confounded 
compofure, that you were walking in St. Jame's Park, 
inftead of an American fcreft: and that all the beafls were 
nothing but good company. The hollow trees, here, 
centryboxes, and the lions in 'em foldiers; thejackalls, 
courtiers ; the crocodiles, fine women ; and the baboons, 
beaus. What the plague made you loiter fo long ? 

Inkle. Refleilion. 

Med. So I fhould think ; reflection generally comes 
laggingbehind. What,fcheming,Ifuppofe ; never quiet. 
At it again, eh ? What a happy trader is your father, 
to have fo prudent a fon for a partner I Why, you are 
the carefulieft Co. inthe whole city. Never lofing fight 
of the main chance ; and that's the reafon, perhaps, you 
loft fight of us, here, on the main of America. 

Inkle. Right, Mr. Medium. Arithmetic, I own,has 
been the means of our parting at prefent. 

Trudge. Ha! A fum in divifion, I reckon. (Jfide) 

Med. Aiid pray, if I may be fo bold, what mighty 
fcheme has juft tempted you to employ your head, when 
you ought to make ufe of your heels ? 

Inkle. My heels ! Here's pretty doctrine I Do you 
think I travel merely for motion ? A fine expenfiveplan 

A 4. for 


for a trader truly. What, wou'd you have a man of 
buUnefs come abroad, fcamper extravagantly here and 
there and every where, then return home, and have 
nothing to tell, but that he has been here and there and 
every where ? 'Sdeath, Sir, would you have me travel 
like a lord ? 

Med. No, the Lord forbid ! " but I am wrong 
" perhaps : there is fomethingin the air of this foreft, 
" I believe, tnat inclines people to be hafty." 

hikle. Travelling, Uncle, was always intended for 
improvement ; and improvement is an advantage ; and 
advantage is profit, and profit is gain. Which, in the 
travelling tranflation of a trader, means, thatyou fhou'd 
gain every advantage of improving your profit. 

" Med. How g^in, and advantage, and profit? 

*' Zounds I'm quite at a lofs." 

" Inkle. You've hit it Uncle, fo am I. I have loft- 
*' my clue by your converfation : you have knock'd all 
" my meditations on the head." 

" Med, It's very lucky for you no-body has done it 
" before me.'* 

hiklc. I have been comparing the land, here, with 
that of our own country. 

Med. And you find it like a good deal of the land of 
of our own country — curfedly encumbei:'d with black 
legp, I take it. 

Inkle. And calculating how much it might be made 
to produce by the acre. 

Med. You were ? 

hikle. Yes J I was proceeding algebraically upon the 

Med. Indeed! 

Inkle. And juft about extrafling the fquare root. 

Med. Hum"! 

Inkle. I was thinking too, if fo many natives cou'd 
be caught, how much they might fetch at the Weft 
Indian markets. 

A'Icd. Now let me afk you a queftion, or two, younjj 
Cannibal Catcher, if you pleafc. 

Inkle. Well. 


AN O P E R *A. 9 

Med. Arn't we bound for Barbadoesj partly to 
trade, but chiefly to carry home the daughter of the go- 
vernor, Sir Chriftopher Curry, who has till now been 
under your father's care, in Threadneadle-ftreet, for 
police Englifh education? 

J7ikle. Granted. 

Med. And isn't it determin'd, between the old 
folks, that you are to marry Narciffaas foon as we get 
there ? 

Inkle. A fix'd thing. 

Med. Then what the devil do you do here, hunting 
©Id hairy negroes, when you ought to be ogling a fine 
girl in thefhip? Algebra, too ! You'll have other things 
to think of when you are married, I promife you. A 
plodding fellow's head, in the hands of a young wife, like 
a boy's flate after fchool, foon gets all its arithmetic 
wip'd of: and then it appears in its true fimple flate ; 
dark, empty, and bound in wood, Maftcr Inkle. 

Inkle. Not inamatch of this kind. Why, it's a table 
of intcrcfl: from beginning to end, old Medium. 

Med. Well, well, this is no time to talk. Who- 
knowsbut, inftead of failing to a wedding, we may get 
cut up, here, for av.-edding dinner: tofs'd up for a dingy 
duke perhaps, or ftew'd down for a black baronet, or 
eat raw by an inky commoner ? 

Inkle. Why fure you arn't afraid ? 

Med. Who, I afraid ! Ha ! ha I ha ! No, not I ! 
What the deuce fhould I be afraid of? Thank heaven, I 
have a clear confcience, and need not be afraid of any 
thing. A fcoundrel might not be quite focafy on fuch 
an occafion ; but it's the part of an honeft man not to. 
behave like a fcoundrel : I never behav'd like a 
fcoundrel — for which rcafon I am an honeft man, you 
know. But come 1 hate to boaft of my good qua- 

Inkle. Slow and fure, my good, virtuous Mr. Me- 
dium ! Our companions can be but half a mile before 
us: and, if we dobut double their fteps, wefliall over- 
take 'em at one mile's ^nd, by all the powers of arith- 



Med. Oh curfe your arithmetic ! How are we to 
find our way ? 

Inkle. That, Uncle, muft be left to the dodrine of 
chances. [Exeuni, 

SCENE, another part of the Forejl. 

AJh'ip at anchor hi the bay at afmall d'ljiance. 

Enter Sailors and Mate, as returning from for- 

Mate. Come, come, bear a hand, my lads. Tho'f 
the bay is juft under our bowfprits, it will take a damn'd 
deal of tripping to come%£ it — there's hardly any (leer- 
ing clear of the rocks here. But do we muftcr all hands ? 
All right, think ye ? 

" Sailors. All, all, my hearty." 

" Mate. What Nick Noggin — Ralph Reef— Tom 

" Pipes— Jack Rattlin— Dick" Deck— Mat Mafl 

" Sam Surf, — Ten water cafks, and a hog ?" 

yi Sail. All to a man beildes yourfelf, and 

a monkey the three land lubbers, that edg'd away 

in the morning, goes for nothing you know they're 

all dead may-hap by this. 

Mate. Dead ! you be Why they're friends of the 

Captain ; and if not brought fafe aboard to-night, you 
may all chance to have a i^lt eel for your fupper — that's 
all. — Moreover, the young plodding fpark, he with the 
grave, foul weather face, there, is toman the tight lit- 
tle frigate, Mifs NarcifTa, what d'ye call her, that is 
bound with us for Barbadoes. Rot 'em for not keeping 
under way, I fay ! 

" id Sail. Poolifh dogs ! Suppofc they are met by 
" the Natives." 

Adatc. " Why then the Natives would look plnguy 
*' black upon 'em,, I do fuppofe." But come, let's iee 
if a fong will bring 'em to. Let's have a full chorus to 
the good Merchant Ship, the Achilles, that's wrote by 
our Captain. " Where's Tom Pipes ?" 

« Soil. 



« SalL Here." 

" Mate. Come then, pipe all hands. Crackthedrums 
" of their ears, my tight fellows. Hail 'em with your 
*' finging trumpet." 


The Achilles, though chrijien'd, good /Jnp, 'tis furtms'dj 
From that old Man of TVar, great Achilles, fo priz'd, 
TVas he, like our vejjel, pray, fairly baptized? 


Poets fung that Achilles— if, now, they've an itch 
To ftng this, future ages may know which is which ; 
And that one rode in Greece — and the other in Pitch. 

Ti tol lol, ^c. 


What tho' but a Merchant Jhip — fure our fuppUcs : 
Now your Men of JFar's gain in a lottery lies. 
Arid how blank they all look, when they can't get a prize / 

Ti tol lol, ^c, 


What are all their fine names ? when no Rhino's behind. 
The Intrepid, and Lion, lookJheepiJJi youHlfind ; 
Whilji, alas I the poor i^olus can't raife thewiyid! 

Ti tol lol, ^c. 


Then the Thunderer's du?nb ; out of tune the Orpheus ; 

The Ceres has nothifig at all to produce ; 

And the Eagle, / warrant you, looks like agoofe, 



But we merchant lads, iho' the foe we can't maul. 
Nor are paid, like fine king-finps, :o fight at a call. 
Why tve pay ourfelves well, without fighti?}g at all. 

Ti tol tol, &c, 
B 2 i/i 


i/? Sail. Avaft ! look a-head there. Here they 
come, chas'd by a fleet of black devils. 

Midjh. And the devil Zifire have I to give 'em. We 
han't a grain of pow^der left. What mull we do, lads ? 

id Sail. Do ? Sheer ofF to be fure. 

*' Midjh. What, andleaveourcompanions behind?'* 

" \Ji Sail. Why not ? they left us before ; io it 
*' come:- to thf^ fame thing." 

" Midjh. No damn it—- 1 can't— I can't do that 
« neither." 

" yi Sail. Why then we'll leave you. Who the 
" plague is to ftand here, and be peppered by a parcel 
*' of favages ?" 

" Midjh. Why to be fure as it is fo— plague on't-- 
« (reluSiaritly). 

" ijl Sail. Pfhaw, mun, they're as fafe as we. Why 
" we're fcarce a cable's length afunder; and they'll keep 
" in our v/ake now, I warrant 'em." 

" Midjh. Why, if you will have it fo---It makes a 
*' body's heart yearn to leave the poor fellows in diftrefs, 
« too.'" 

Jll. Come, bear a hand, Mafter Malinfpike ! 

Midjlj. {Rclu£iantly) Well^ if I m.uft, I muft {going 
to the other fide and hoUoiving to Inkle, &:c.) Yoho, 
Lubbers! Crowd all the fail you can, d'ye mind me ! 

[^Exeuut Sailors, 

Enter Medium, runniiig acrofs the Jlage^ as purfued by the 
Med. Nephew ! Trudge ! run— fcamper ! Scour- 
fly ! Zounds, what harm did I ever do to be hunted to 
death by a pack of bloodhounds? Why Nephew! 
Oh, confound your long fums in arithmetic ! I'll take 
care of myfelf j and if we muft have any arithmetic, 
dot and carry one for my money, (runs off) 

EnterXvi^c and Trudge hajiily. 

Trudge. Oh ! that ever I was born, to leave pen, 
ink, and powder for this ! 

' Inkle. 


Inkle. Trudge, how far are the failors before us ? 

Trudge. I'll run and fee, Sir, tliredtly. 

Inkle. Blockhead, come here. The favages are clofe 
upon us 5 we (hall fcarce be able to recover our party. 
Get behind this tuft of trees with me ; they'll pafs us, 
and we may then recover our fhip with fafety. 

Trudze. (going behind) Oh ! ThreadneadJe-ftreet^ 
Thread^ — 

Inkle. Peace, 

Xrudge. (hiding) — Needle-ftreet. (Tljey hide behind 
trees. Natives crofs. After a longpaiije. Inkle looks 
from the trees. 

Inkle. Trudge. 

Trudge. Sir, (In a ivhifper). 

Inkle. Are they all gone by? 

Trudge. Won't you look and fee ? 

\nkle. (looking round). So all's fafe at laft. (coming 
forward). Nothing like policy in thefe cafes; but you'd, 
have run on, like ^ booby ! A tree, I fancy, you'll find, 
in future, the belt refource in a hot purfuit. 

Trudge. Oh charming ! It's a retreat for a king. 
Sir. Mr. Medium, however, has not got up in it ; your 
Uncle, Sir, has run on like a booby ; and has got up with 
our party by this time, I take it ; who are now moft 
likely at the fhore. But what are we to do next. 

Inkle. Reconnoitre a little, and then proceed. 

Trudge. Then pray. Sir, proceed to reconnoitre ; 
for the fooner the better. 

Inkle. Then look out, d'ye hear, and tell me if you 
difcover any danger. 

Trudge. Y— ,.r-Ye^— s Yes But (trembling). 

*' As you underftand this bufmefs betterthan I, Sir, fup- 
" pofe you flick clofe to my elbow, to give me direc- 
" tions. 

" Inkle. Cowardly fcoundrel! Do as you are order'd, 
" Sir," Well, is the coaft clear ? 

Trudge. Eh I Oh Lord ! --Clear ? (rubbing his eyes) 
Oh dear ! oh dear !. the coaft will foonbe clear enough 

JioW; I promife you The fliip is under fail, Sir! 



** Inkle. Death and damnation ! 

" Trudge. Aye, death falls to my lot. I fliall ftarvc, 
" and go off like a pop-gu:i." 

Inkle. Confufion ! my property carried ofF in the 

Trudge. All, all. Sir, except me. 

" hikle. Treacherous villains ! My whole efFedls 
« loft. 

*' Trudge. Lord, Sir, any body but you wou'd only 
*' think of effedring his fafety in fuch a fituation." » 

Inkle. They may report me dead, perhaps, and dif.^ 
pofe of my property at the next idand. 

(The vsjfel appears under fail. ^ 

Trudge. Ah! there they go. (A gun fired.) 
That will be the laft report wefhall ever hear from 'em, 
I'm afraid. — That's as much as to fay, Good bye to ye. 

And here we are left two fine, full-grown babes in 

the wood ! 

Inkle. What anill-tim'd accident ! Juft too, when 
my fpeedy union with NarcilTa, at Barbadoes, wou'd fo 
much advance myinterefts. Something muft be hil up- 
on, and fpeedily ; but what refource ! (thinking) 

Trudge* The old one a tree. Sir 'Tis all we 

have for it now. What wou'd I give, now, to be perch'd 
upon a high ftool, with our brown defk fqueez'd into 
the pit of my ftomach — fcribbling away an old parch- 
ment ! But all my red ink will be fpilt by an old 

black pin of a negro. 


I aft Valentine's Day, 

yf voyage over feas had not entered my head. 

Had I known hut on tvhichfide to butter my bread. 
c ' Meigho ! Jure I — for hunger muji die ! 

Pve fail' d like a booby ; ccme here in a f quail., 
Where, alas ! there's no bread to be butter'dat all! 
Oho ! Pma terrible booby s^. 

Oh, wbat a fad booby am I ! 

II. In 



In Londoriy what gay chop-houfejigns in thejlreett 
But the only fign here is of nothing to eat. 

Heigho ! that I -for hunger Jhoiild die f 

My Mutton's all loji ; Pjn a poor Jiarving elf', 
And for all the world like a lojl mutton niyfelf. 

Oho I I Jhall die a loJi mutton / 

Oh ! what a lojl mutton am I ! 


For a neat f ice of beef I could roar like a bull % 
And my Jlomach' s fo empty., my heart is quite full. 
Heigho I that I— for hunger jhould die ! 
Bftty grave without meat, I mufl here meet mfgrave-^ 
For my bacon^ I fancy., I never Jhall fave. 

Oho I I Jhall rC eer fave 7ny bacon ! 

I can't fave my bacon., not II 

drudge. Hum ' I was thlnking- 

hnkle. Well, well, what ? Something to ourpur- 
pofe, I hope." 

Trudge, I was thinking, Sir if fo many natives 

cou'd be caught, how much they might fetch at the 
Weft India markets ! 

lukle. Scoundrel ! is this a time to jeft ^ 

Trudge. No, faith. Sir ! Hunger is too fharp to be 
jefted with. As for me, I fhall ftarve for want of food. 
Now you may meet a luckier fate : You are able to ex- 
traiSl the fquare root. Sir ; and that's the very beft pro- 
vifion you can find here to live upon. But I ! (noife at 
a dijiance) Mercy on us ! here they come again. 

Inkle. Confufion ! Defer ted on one fide, and prefs'd 
on the other, which way (hall I turn ? — This cavern 
may prove a fafe retreat to us for the prefent. I'll en- 
ter, coll what it will. 

Trudge. Oh Lord ! no, don't, don't We fliall 

pay too dear for our lodging, depend on't. 

Inkle. This is no time for debating. You are at the 
mouth of it : lead the way, Trudge. 



Trudge. What ! go in before your honor ! I know 
my place better, I aflure you — I might walk into more 
mouths than one, perhaps. (Afide) 

Inkle. Coward ! then follow me. (Noife again) 
Trudge. I muft,Sir; I mud: ! Ah Trudge, Truc'ge ' 
what a damn'd hole are you getting into ! 

\_ Ex emit into a cavern. 

SCENE, A cave^ decorated with Jkins of wild beajlsj 
feathers^ ilfc. In the middle of the fcene^ a rude kind of 
curtain^ by way of door to an inner apartment. 

EnterXv^z <3«^Trudge, as from the mouth of the Cavern. 

Trudge. Why, Sir! Sir .^ you muflbemad togoany 

Inkle. So far, at leafl-, we have proceeded with fafety. 
Ha! no bad fpecimen of favage elegance. Thefcorna- 
ments would be worth fomething in England— We have 
little to fear here, I hope : This cave rather bears the 
pleafmg face of a profitable adventure. 
• Trudge, Very likely. Sir ! But, for a pleafmg face, 
it has the curfed'ft ugly mouth I ever faw in my life. 
Now do. Sir, make off as faft as you can. If we once 
get clear of ibf natives houfes, we have little to fear from 
the lions and leopards : for, by the appearance of their 
parlours, they feem to have kill'd all the wild beafts 
in the country. Now pray, do, my good Mafter, take 
my advir-e, and run away. 

Inkle. Rafcal ! Talk again of going out, and I'll flea 
you alive. 

Trudge. That's juft what I expeft for coming in 

All that enter here appear to ha\e had their fkin ftript 

over their ears ; and ours will be kept for curiofities 

We fhall ftand here, ftuff'd, for a couple of white 

Inkle. This curtain feems to lead to another apart- 
ment : I'll dnw it. 




Trudge. No, no, no, don't; don't. We may be 
call'd to account for diftiirbing the company: you may 
get a curtain-le<5ture, perhaps, fir. 

hikle. Peace, booby, and Hand on youi guard. 

Trudge. Oh ! what will become of us ! Some grim, 
feven-foot fellow ready to fcalp us. 

Inkle. By heaven ! a woman ! 

Js the curtain draws, Yarico arid Wowfki, dif- 
cover'dy aJJeep. 

Trudge. A woman ! (J/ide) — [Loud] But let him 
come on ; Pm ready — dam'me, 1 don't fear facing the 
devil himfelf — Faith it is a woman — faft afleep too. 

Inkle. And beautiful as an angel ! 

Trudge. And, egad ! there feems to be a nice, lit- 
tle plump bit in the corner j only Ihe's an angel of ra- 
ther a darker fort. 

Inkle. Hufli ! keep back — fhe wakes. [Yarico 
comes forward — Inkle and Trudge reiire to oppofite fides 
af the fcene.'\ 

SON G Y A R I c o. 

When the chace of day is done. 
And the Jhaggy lion^s fkin. 
Which, for us, our warriors winy 
Decks our cells, at fet of fun ; 
Worn with toil, with feep opprefi, 
I prefs my moffy bed, andfmk to refl, 

Then, once more, I fee our train, 
Jf'^ith all our chace renewed again : 

Once more, 'tis day. 

Once more, our prey 
Cnajhes his angry teeth, and foams in vain* 

Again, infullen hafle, he fies. 

To" en in the toil, again he lies, 
Again he roars-^and, in my /lumbers^ dies. 

B Jrikle. 


Inkle. Our language ! 

Trudge. Zounds, flie has thrown me into a cold 

Tarico. Hark ! I heard a noife ! Wow/ki, awake f 
whence can it proceed ! \_She wakes Wowfki, and they 

both come forward Yarico towards Inkle j Wowlki 

towards Trudge.] 

Trudge. " Madam your very humble fervant." 

(To fFozv/ki.) 

Tar. Ah ! what form is this ?— are you a man ? 

Ink/e. True flcfn and blood, my charming heathen, 
I promife vou. 

Tar. What harmony in his voice ! What a fliape! 
How fair his fkin too ! (gazing) 

Trudge. This muft be a lady of quality, by her 

Tar. Say, ftranger, whence come you ? 

I/d-/e. PVom a far diftant ifland ; driven on this coaft 
by diilrcfs, and deferted by my companions. 

Tar. And do you know the danger that furrounds 
you here ? Our woods are fill'd with beafts of prey — 

my countrymen too fyet, I think they cou'dn'tfind 

the heart) might kill you. It wou'd be a pity if 

you fell in tlieir way 1 think I fhou'd weep if you 

came to any harm. 

Trudge. O ho ! It's time, I fee, to begin making in- 
tcrcft with the chambermaid. (Takes Wowfki apart.) 

Inkle. How wild and beautiful ! fure there's magic 
in her fhape, and flie has rivctted me to the place. But 
where fhall I look for fafety ? let me fly, and avoid my 

Tarico. Oh! no — But (as if puzzled)'Wit\\ thony 

die ftranger, but don't depart. But I will try to pre- 

icYve you ; and if you arc kill'd, Yarico mufl die too ! 
Yet, 'tis I alone can fa\'e you : your death is certain 
without my affiftance ; and indeed, indeed, you fhall not 
want it. 

hikle. My kind Yarico ! what means, then, muft be 
us'd for my fafety ? 

Tarico. My cave muft conceal you : none enter it, 
iince my father was flain inbattlc. I wiilbring you food, 




by day, then lead you to our unfrequented groves, by 
moonlight, to liften to the nightingale. If you (hould 
fleep, I'll watch you, and vvake you when there's danger. 

Inkle. Generous A-laid! Then, to you I will owe my 
life ; and v/hilft it lafts, nothing fhall part us. 

Tar. And fhan't it, flian't it indeed ? 

Inkle. No, my Yarico ! For when an opportunity 
offers to return to my country, you fliall be my com- 

Tar. What ! crofs the feas ! 

Inkle. Yes. Help meto dil'coveravelTeljandyoufliall 
enjoy wonders. You fhall be deck'd in filks, my brave 
maid, and have a houfe drawn with horfes to carry you. 

Tar. Nay, do not laugh at me — but is it fo ? 

Inkle. It is indeed ! 

Tar. Oh wonder ! I wifii my countrywomen cou'i 
fee me But won't your warriors kill us ? 

Inkle. No, our only danger, on land, is here. 

Tar. Then let us retire further into the cave. Come 
— your fafety is in my keeping. 

Mle. I follow you— Yet, can you run fome rifque 
in followinfr me ? 


O fay, Bonny Lafs. 

Inkle O fay^ fimple maid^ have you form'' d any notion 
Of all the rude dangers in croffing the ocean ? 
JVhen winds whijlle Jhrilly^ ah ! won't they re- 
mind yoUy 
To fghy with regret^ for the grot left behind you ? 
Yar. yih ! no^ I cov'd follow., and fail the world over^ 
Nor think of my grot ^ when I look at my lover ' 
The winds which blow round us ^ your ar 7ns for 

my pilloiv^ 

Will lull us to JJeep^ whilfi we're rocFd by each 


" Inkle. Then^ fay^ lovely lafs^ what if h apply fpying 

" J rich gallant veffely zvith gay colours fyi?ig f 

B 2 « Yar, 


*' Yar. I'll journey^ iviih thee^ love, to luhere the land 


*', And Jl'ing all my carei at iny back^ with my 


Both. O fay then, my true love, we never will [under. 

Nor /brink from the tempeji, nor dread the big 

thunder : 
IVJnle conflant, we'll laugh at all changes of 

And journey, all over the world, both together. 
[Exeunt; as retiring further into the Cave] 

Manent Trudge ayid Wowfki. 

Truage. Why, you fpeak Englifh as well as I, my 
little Wowfki. 

Wouf Ks. 

Trudge. Ifs ! And you learnt it from a flrange man, 
that tumbled from a big boat, many moons ago, you fay? 

IVowf. Ifs — Teach me — Teach good many. 

Trudge. Then, whatthe devil made 'em fofurpriz'd 
at feeing us ! was he like me ? [JVoivJTciJhakes her head). 
Not fo fmart a body, may-hap. Was his face, now^ 
round, and comely, and — ch! [Stroaking his chin). 
Was it like mine ? 

JVowf. Like dead leaf — brown and fhrivel. 

Trudge. Oh, oh, an old fhipwreck'd failor, I war- 
rant. With white and grey hair, eh, my pretty beauty 
fpot ? 

JVowf. Ifs ; all white. When night come, he put 
it in pocket. 

Trudge. Oh ! wore a wig. But the old boy taught 
you fomcthing more than Englifh, I believe. 

JVowf. Ifs. 

Trudge. The devil he did ! What was it ? 

JJ^oivf. Teach me put dry grafs, red hot, in hol- 
low white ftick. 

Trudge, Aye, what was that for I 



JVowf, Put in my mouth— go pofF, pofF? 

Trudge. Zounds ! did he teach you to fmoke? 

mvif Ik. 

Trudge. And what became of him at laft ? What 
did your countrymen do for the poor fellow ? 

JVo-wf. Eat him one day— Our chief kill him. 

Trudge. Mercy on us ! what damn'd ftomachs, to 
fwallow a tough old Tar ! Though, for the matter of 
ihat, there's many of our Captains would eat all they 
kill I believe ! Ah, poor Trudge ! your killing comes 

Wowf. No, no— not you — no [running to him 


Trudge. No ? why what fhall 1 do, if I get in their 
paws ? 

fVowf. I fight for you ! 

Trudge. Will you ? Ecod fhe's a brave, good- 
natur'd wench ! fhe'll be worth a hundred of your Englifli 
wives— Whenever they fighton their hufband's account, 
it's with\i\xti inftead of y^r him, I fancy. But how 
the plague am I to live here ? 

iVowf. I feed you— bring you kid, 

SONG. mwjki. 

(One day, I heard Mary fay.) 

White many never go away ■ 

Tell tne why need you ? 
Stay^ with your Wowfki, Jiay : 

Wowfki will feed you. 
Cold moons are now coming in : 

Ah don't go grieve me / 
/'// wrap you in leopard' s Jkin : 

fplnte man^ don't leave me. 

B 3 ri. Md 




j^ftdwhen all thejky is bhie^ 

Sun makes warm zveatker^ 
Til catch you a Cockatoo^ 

Drefs you in feather. 
V/hen cold comes^ or when 'tis Iwty 

Jh don't go grieve me ! 
Poor Wowfki will be forgot — 

White man^ don't leave me ! 

Trudge. Zounds ! leopard's (kin for winter wear, 
and feathers for a fummer's fuit ! Ha, ha! I fhall look 
like a walking hammer-cloth, at Chriftmas, and an up- 
right fhuttlecock, in the dog days. And for. ail this, if 
my mafter and I find our way to England, you fliallbe 
part of our travelling equipage j and, when I get there, 
I'll give you a couple of fnug rooms, on a firft floor, 
and vifit you every evening as foon as I come from the 
counting houfe. Do you like it ? 

tVoiif Ifs. 

Trudge. Damme, what a flafhy fellow I (hall fecm in 
the city ! I'll get her a white boy to bring up the tea- 
kettle. Then I'll teach you to write and drefs hair. 

Wowf. You great man \n your country? 

Trudge. Oh yes, a very great man. I'm head clerk 
of the ccunting-houfe, and lirfl; valet- de-chambre of the 
drefling-room. I pounce parchments, powder hair, 
black Inoes, ink paper, fhave beards, and mend pens. 

But hold ; I had forgot one material point you ar'nt 

married, I hope ? 

Wowf. No : jow be my chum-chum! 

Trudge. Sol will. It's beft, however, to be fure of 
her being fmgle ; for Indian hitfbands are not quite fo 
complaifant as Englifhones, and the vulgar dogs might 
think of looking a little after their fpoufes. Well, as 
my mailer feems king of this palace, and has taken his 
Indian Queen alrciidy, I'll e'en be Uflier of the black 
rod here. But you have had a lover or two in your 
time ; eh, Wowfki ? 

IVctcf Oh ifs— great mar.y--I tell you. 




Wowf. JVampum^ Swampumj Tanko^ Lanko, Nanko^ 

Black men plenty — twenty-— Jight for mc^ 

JVhite tnan^ ivoo you true ? 
Trudge. Who? 
Wowf. Tou, 

Trudge. Tcs^ pretty little Woivjki I 

Wowf, Then J leave all andfclloiu thee. 
Trudge. Oh then turn about^tny little tawny tight one! 

Don't you like me ? 
Wowf. Ifs^ you're like the fnow ! 

If you fight one. • ■ 

Trudge. Never^ not for any ivhite one : 

Tou are beautiful as any foe. 
Wowf. IVars^ jars^ fears can't expofe ye, 

hi our grot " • 
Trudge. So fnug and cofy ! 

Wowf. Flowers neatly 

Pick'd, Jhall fiveetly 

Make your bed. 
Trudge, C eying toying 

IVith a rofy 


IVhen Vm dofey. 
Bear -fin night -caps too f jail zvarm my hand. 
Both, Bear-fkiii night-caps, &c, &c. 

EndoftheYl'^^T ACT. 

B 4 ACT. 



SCENE, The ^tay at Barbadoes, with an Inn upon 
it. People employed, in unlading Vejfeh^ carrying Bales 
of Goods^ Cffc. 

Enter feveral Planters. 

I/? Plant. _|_ Sawherthismorning,gentIemen,youmay 
depend on't. My tdefcope never fails me. 1 pop'd 
upon her as I was taking a peep from my balcony. A 
brave tight fhip, I tell you, bearing down diredtly for 
Barbadoes here. 

'2.d Plant. OJs my life ! rare news! We have not 
had a veflel arrive in our harbour thefe fix weeks. 

3^/ Plant. Andthe laft brought only madam NarcifTa, 
our Governor's daughter, from England ; with a parcel 
of lazy, idle, white folks about her. Such cargoes will 
never do for our Trade, neighbour. 

4^/; Plant. No, no : we want flaves. A terrible 
dearth of 'em in Barbadoes, lately! But your dingy paf- 
fengcrs for my money. Give me a veflel like a collier, 
where all the lading tumbles out as blackas myhat. But 
are you fure, now, you ar'nt miftaken ? {to iji Planter) 

ijl Plant. Miftaken ! 'Ibud, do you doubt my glafs ? 
I can difcover a gull by it fix leagues off: I could fee 
every thing as plain as if I was on board. 

id Plant. Indeed I and what were her colours ? 

I/?. Plant. Um ! why Englifh or Dutch 

or French -I don't exactly remember. 

yl Plant. What were the failors aboard ? 

I/? Plant. Eh ! why they were Englilh too or 

Dutch or French I can't perfedly recollect. 

• \th Plant. 


4/A Plant, Your glafs, neighbour, is a little liJce a 
glafs too much : it makes you forget every thing you 
ought to remember. [Cry without^ '-'• A faU^ a fail V* 

iji Plant. Egad but I'm right tho'. Now gentle- 
men ! 

M. Aye, aye ; tlie devil take the hindmoft. 

Exeunt hajiily. 

Enter NarcifTa and Patty. 


Frejhly now the breeze h blowhig ; 

As yon jhip at anchor rides^ 
Sullen waves incejfant Jiowlng, 

Rudely daft) agalnji the fides : 
So my heart, its courje impeded. 

Beats in my perturbed brea/i ; 
Doubts, like waves by waves fucceededj 

Rife, andjiill deny it refl. 

Patty. Well, Ma'am, as I was faying- 

Nar. Well, fay no more of what you were faying— 
Sure, Patty, you forget where you are : a little caution 
will be neceflary now, I think. 

Patty. Lord, Madam, how is it poffible to help talk- 
ing ? We are in Barbadoes here to be fure— but then, 
Ma'am, one may let out a little in a private morning's 
walk by ourfelves. 

Nar. Nay, it's the fame thing with you in doors. 

" Patty. Why, to fay the truth, M'am, tho' we- da 
*' live in your father's houfe — Sir Chriftopher Curry, 
" the grand Governor that governs all Barbadoes—* 
" and a terrible pofitive governor he is to be fure — 
" yet, he'll find it a difficult matter to govern a cham- 
" bermaid's tongue, I believe. 

" Nar. That I am fure of, Patty ; for it runs as ra- 
*' pidly as the tide which brought us from England. 

" Patty. Very true, Ma'am j and, like the tide, it 
" flops for no maji. 

« Nar, 


" Nar. Well, well, let it run as you pleafe ; only for 
" my fake, take care it don't run away with you. 

" Patty. Oh, Ma'am, it has been too well train'd 
" in the courfe of converfation, I promife you •, and if 
" ever it fays any thing to your difadvantage, my name 
" is not Patty Prink," — I never blab, Ma'^ara, never, 
as I hope for a gown. 

Nar. And your never blabbing, as you call it, de- 
pends chiefly on that hope, I believe. The unlocking 
my cheft, locks up all your faculties. An old filk gown 
makes you turn your back on all my fecrets ; a large 
bonnet blinds your eyes, and a fafliionable high hand- 
kerchief covers your ears, and flops your mouth at once, 

Patty. Dear Ma'am, how can you think a body (o 
mercenary I Am I always tealing you about gowns and 
gew-gaws, and fallals and finery? Or do you take me 
tor a conjuror, that nothing will come out of my mouth 
but ribbons ? I have told the ftory of our voyage, in- 
deed, to old Guzzle, the butler, who is very inquifitive ; 
and, between ourfelves, is the uglieft old Quiz I ever 
faw in my life. 

Nar. Well, well, I have feen him ; pitted with the 
fmall-pox and a red face. 

Patty. Right, Ma'am. It's for all the world like 
his mafter's cellar, full of holes and liquor. But when 
he alks me what you and I think of the matter, why I 
look wife, and cry like other wife people who have no^ 
thing to fay— -All's for the bcft. 

Nar. And, thus, you lead him to imaginel am but 
little inclin'd to the match. 

Patty. Lord, Ma'am, how could that be ? Why, I 
never faid a v/ord about Captain Camplcy. 

Nar. Hufh ! hufh, for heaven's fake. 

Patty. Ay! there it is now. — There, Ma'am, I'm 
as mute as a mack'rel--That name ftrikes me dumb in 
a moment. I don't know how it is, but Captain Camp- 
ley fomehow or other has the knack of flopping my 
mouth oftener than any body clfe, Ma'am. 

Nar. His name again ! —-Confider.— Never men- 
tion it i I dcfire you. 



Patty. Not I, Ma'am, not I. Butif our voyage from 
England was fo pleafant, it wasn't owing to Mr. Inkle, 
I'm certain. He didn't play the fiddle in our cabin, and 
dance on the deck, and come languifhing with a glafs 
of warm water in his hand, when we were fea-fick. Ah, 
Ma'am, that water warm'd your heart, I'm confident. 

Mr. Inkle ! No, No; Captain Cam " there, he 

*' has ftopned mymouth again, Ma'am." 

Nar. Fhere is no end to this ! Remember, Patty, 
keep your fecrecy, or you entirely lofe my favour. 

Patty. Never fear me, Ma'am. Butif fomebodyl 
know is not acquainted with the Governor, there's fuch 
a thing as dancing at balls, and fqueezing hands when 
you lead up, and fqueezing them again v/hen you caft 
down, and walking on the Quay in a morning. 

" Nar. No more of this !" 

Patoy. Oh, I won't uttcra fyllable. " I'll go, and 
*' take a turn on the Quay by myfelf, if you think pro- 
per." ^archly)- But remember, I'm as ciofeas a patch .; 
box. Mum's the word, Ma'am, I promife you, 


This maxim let ev'ry one hear. 

Proclaim'' d from the North to the South ; 
JVhatever comes in at your ea7\ 

Shoii'diiever run out at your mouth, 
IVe fervants^ Ukefervants of Jlate, 

Should lljlen fo ally and be dumb ; 
Let others harrangue and debate. 

We look vuife—Jhake our heads. — and are rnwn. 


Tbe fudge in dull dignity drefl. 

In flence hears harrijlers preach ; 
And then to prove fdence is befl. 

He'll git up, and give than afpecch, 



By faying hut little, the maid 

fVill keep her fwain under her thumh ; 
j^tid the lovcr^ that's true to his trade, 

h certain to kifs^ and cry mum. [Exit'^ 

Nar. " This heedlefswenchj every time {he fpeaks, 
I dread a difcovery of my fentiments," How awkward 
is my prefent fituation ! Promis'd to one, who, perhaps, 
may never again be heard of ; and who, I am fure, if he 
ever appears to claim me, will do it merely on the fcore 
of intereft — prefs'd too by another, who has already, 
I fear, too much intereft in my heart— what can I do ? 
What plan can I follow ? 

Enter Campley. 

Camp. Follow my advice, Narcifia, by all means. 
Enlift with me, under the beft banners in the world. 
General Hymen for my money! litiieC-ipid's his drum- 
mer : he has been beating a round rub-a-dub on our 
hearts, and we have only to obey the word of command, 
fall into the ranks of matrimony, and march through 
life together. 

'■'■Nar. Halt! halt, Captain ! you march too quick; 
befidcs, you make matrimony a mere parade." 

" Camp. Faith, I believe, many make it fo at prefent. 
But we are volunteers, Narcifia ! and I am for adlual 
fervicc, Ipromife you." 

Nar. Then confider our fituation. 

Camp. That has been dulyconfider'd. Infhort, the 
cafe ftands exactly thus — your intended fpoufe is all for 
money : I am all for love : He is a rich rogue : I am 
rather a poor honeft fellow. He wou'd pocket your for- 
tune ; I will take you without a fortune in your pocket. 

" Nar. But where's Mr. Inkle's view of intereft? 
Hasn't he run away from me r 

" Camp. And I am ready to run away tvith you — - 
" you won't always meet with fuch an offer on an cmer- 
" gency." 

Nar , 


Nar. Oh! I am fenfibleof the favour, moft gallant 
Captain Campley; and my father, no doubtj will be 
very much oblig'd to you. 

Camp. Aye, there's the devil of it ! Sir Chriftopher 

Curry's confounded good character kr^ocks me up at 

once. Yet I am not acquainted with him neither ; not 
known to him, even by fight; being here only a sa pri- 
vate gentleman on a vifit to my old relation, out of re- 
gimentals, and fo forth ; and not introduc'd to the Go- 
vernor as other officers of the place : But then the re- 
port of his hofpitality — his odd, blunt, whimfical friend- 
ihip— -his whole behaviou r 

Nar. All ftare you in the face , eh, Campley ? 

Camp. They do till they put me out of countenance : 
But then again, when Iftare/oz/in theface, I can't think 
I have any reafon to be afham'd of my proceedings—I 
ftick here between my Love and my Principle, like a 
fong between a toaft and a fentiment. 

Nar. And if your love and your principle were put 
in the fcales, you doubt which would weigh rrPoft ? 

Camp. Oh, no 1 I ftiou'd adl like a rogue, and let 
principle kick the beam: For love, Narcifla, is as heavy 
as lead, and like a bullet from a piftol, cou'd never go 
thro' the heart, if it wanted weight. 

Nar. Or rather like the piftol itfelf, that often goes 
eff without any harm done. Your fire muft end in 
fmoke I believe. 

Camp. Never whilft 

Nar. Nay, atruce toproteftations atprefent. What 
fignifies talking to me^ when you have fuch oppofi- 
tion from others ? Why hover about the city, inftead of 
boldly attacking the guard ? Wheel about, captain I face 
the enemy ! March ! Charge I Rout 'em — Drive 'era 
before you, and then — 

Camp. And then — 

Ncir^ Lud ha' mercy on the poor city ! 



SON G.—— Rondeau. 

*^. " Since 'tis vain to think of flying." 

Mars woii'd oft^ his conqueji over^ 

To the Cyprian Goddejs yields 
Venus gloried in a lover ^ 

Who^ like hiruy cou d brave the field. 

Mars wou'd oft^ i^c, 


In the caufe of battles hearty^ 

Still the God wou'd Jlrive to prove^ * 

He who fac'd an adverfe part}\ 

Fittcji was to meet his love. 

Mars wou'd oft^ ifc. 


Hear then^ Captains, ye who hlujlcr. 

Hear the God of JVar declare. 
Cowards never can pafs inujtcr j 

Courage only wins the fair. 

Mars wou'd oft, Uc, 

£«/^r Patty, hajlily. 

Patty. Oh lUd, Ma'am, I'm frighten'd out of my 
wits ! fure as I'm alive, Ma'am, Mr. Inkle is not dead ; 
I faw his man. Ma'am, juft now, coming afhore in a 
boat with other pallengers, from the veflel that's come 
to theifland. 

" Nar. Then one way or other I mud determine." 

" Patty. But, pray Ma'am, don't tell thu Captain ; 
" I'm fure he'll flick poor Trudge in his pafTion ; and 
" he's the beft natur'd, peaceable, kind, loving foul 
" in the world." [^^^^t Patty. 

Nar. (to Camp.) Look'ye, Mr. Campl^-v, fomething 
has happen'd which makes me wave ceremonies.— If you 


AN O P E R A. 31 

mean to apply to my father, remember that delays are 

Camp. Indeed ! 

Nar. I mayn't be always in the fame mind, you 
know. (Smiling.) 

Camp. Nay then— -Gad, I'm almoft afraid too— but 
living in this ftate of doubt is torment. I'll e'en put a 
good face on the matter; cock my hat; make my bow; 
and try to reafon the Governor into compliance. Faint 
heart never won a fair Lady. 


PFJjyJhoit'il I vain fears dlfcover. 

Prove a dyin<^^ /ighlngfiuain f 
Why turn /hilly-/}) ally lover ^ 

Only to prolong fiiy pain P 


JV1)en we vooo the dear enjlaver. 
Boldly a/k and /Joe will grant ; 

How /hould we obtain a favour^ 
But by telling what we want ? 


Should the nymph be found complying^ 
Nearly then the battlers won ; 

Parents think ^tis vain denying^ 

When half the work is fairly done. 


Enter Trudge and Wowflci [as from the fjip) ivith a 
dirty runner to one of the inns. 

Run. This way. Sir j if you will let me recom- 

Trudge. Come along. Wows ! Take care of your 
furs, and your feathers, my girl. 



JVowf. Ifs. 

Trudge, That's right. — Somebody might Ileal *em, 

Wowf. Steal" ! — What that ? 

Trudge, Oh Lord! fee what one lofes by not being 
born in a Chriftian country. 

Run. If you wou'd, Sir, but mention to your maf- 
ter, the houfe that belongs to my mafter ; the beft ac- 
commodations on the quay. — 

Trudge. What's your fign, my lad ? 

Run. The Crown, Sir — Here it is. 

Trudge. Well, get us a room for half an hour, and 
we'll come : and harkee ! let it be light and airy, d'ye 
hear ? My mafter has been us'd to your open apart- 
ments lately. 

Run. Depend on it.— Much oblig'd |o you, Sir. 


Wowf. Who be that fine man ? He great Prince ? 

Trudge. A Prince Ha? ha' No, not quite a 

Prince — but he belongs to the Crown. But how do 
you like this, Wovfrs ? Isn't it fine ? 

Wowf. AVonder ! 

Trudge. Fine men, eh I 

JVowf. Ifs ! all white ; like you. 

Trudge. Yes, all the fine men are like me : As dif- 
ferent from your people as powder and ink, or paper and 

JVowf. And fine lady — Face like fnow. 

Trudge. What ! the fine ladies complexions ? Oh, 
yes, exadly; for too much heat very often diflblves 
'em ! Then their drefs, too. 

Wowf. Your countrymen drefs fo ? 

Trudge. Better, better a great deal. Why, a young 
flafhy Englifhman will fometimes carry a whole fortuiie 
on his back. But did you mind the women ? All here 
— and there ; (pointing before and behind) they have it all 

from us in England. And then the fine things they 

carry on their heads, Wowfki. 

Wowf. Ifs. One lady carry good fifh fo fine, 

fhe call every body to look at her. 




Trudge, Pfliaw ! an old woman bawling flounders. 
But the fine girls we meet, here, on the quay— fo round, 
and fo plump ! 

IVowf. You not love me now. 
Trudge. Not love you ! Zounds, have not I given 
you proofs ? 

Wovuf. lis. Great many : But now you get here, 
you forget poor Wowfki ! 

Trudge. Not I : I'll ftick to you like wax. 
IVowf. Ah ! I fear ! What make you love me now? 
Trudge. Gratitude, to be fure. 
Wgwj'. What that ? 

Trudge. Ha ! this it is, now, to live without educa- 
tion. The poor dull devils of her country are all in the 
pradlice of gratitude, withoutfinding out what itmeans; 
while we can.teli the meaning of it, with little or no 
practice at all. — Lord, Lord, what a fine advantage 
Chriftian learning is ! Hark'ee, Wows .' 
JVovjf. Ifs. 

Trudge. Now we've accomplifh'd our landing, I'll 
accompliili you. You remember the inilruilions I gave 
you on the voyage ? 
IVowf. Ifs. 

Trudge. Let's fee now — What are you to do, when 
I introduce you to the Nobility, Gentry, and others— 
of my acquaintance ? 

Wowj. Make believe fit down ; then get up. 
Trudge. Letme fceyoudo it. \_She makes a loiucurtefy. ] 
Very well ! And how are you to recommend yourfelf, 
when you have nothing to fay, amongft all our great 
friends ? 

TVowf. Grin — ^fhew my teeth. 
Trudge. Right! they'll thinkyou'vc liv'dwith people 
of fafliion. But fuppofc you meet an old (habbyfriend 
in misfortune, that you don't wiili to be feen to fpeak to 
— what wou'd you do ? 

Wowj. Look blind — 'not fee him. 
Trudge. Why wou'd you do that ? 
TVowf. 'Caufe I can't fee good friend in diftrefs. 
Trudge. That's a good girl ! and I wifli every body 
cou'd boaft of fo kind a motive for fuch curfcd cruel be- 
C haviour. 


haviour.— Lord ! howfomeofyourflafiiybanker'sclerks 
have cut me in Threadneedle-ftreet. — But come, the' 
we have got among fine folks, here, in an Englifli fcttle- 
ment, I won't be afham'd of my old acquaintance : 
yet, for my own part, Ifhould not be forry, now, to fee 
my old friend with a new face.--Odibobs ! I fee Mr. 
Inkle~Go in, Wows ; — call for what you like bell. 

Wowf. Then, I call for you — ah ! I fear I not fee 
you often now. But you come foon 


Remember when ive walked alone, 

jind heard, fo gruff, the lion growl ; 
And when the moon jo bright it /hone, 

IVe faw the wolf look up and howl ', 
I led you well, Jafe to our cell, 

TVhile, tremblingly^ 
You f aid to me, 
"■-And kifs'dfojweet — dear Wowfki tell. 

How cou'd Hive without ye ? 


But now you come acrofs thefca. 

And tell me here no monjlers roar ; 
YojiHl walk alone and leave poor me, 

JVlien wolves to fright you howl no more, 
Bnt ah / think well on our old cell. 
Where tremblingly 
You kifd poor me— 
Perhaps yoiCllfay — dear Wowfki tell. 

How can I live without ye ^ 
[Exit Wowfki. 

Trudge. Eh ! oh ! my maflcr's talking to fomebody 
en the quay. Who have we here ! 



Enter Firft Planter. 

Plant. Hark'ee, young man ! Is that young Indian 
of your's going to our market ? 

Trudge. Not {he — file never went to market in all 
her life. 

Plant. I mean, is fhe for our fale of flaves? Our 
Black Fair? 

Trudge. A Black fair,! Ha! ha! ha! You hold 
it on a brown green, I fuppofe. 

Plant. She's your Have, I take it ? 

Trudge. Yes; and I'm her humble fervant, Itakeit. 

Plant. Aye, aye, natural enough at fea. — But at how 
much do you value her ? 

Trudge. Juft as much as fbehas fared me — My own 

Plant. Pfliaw ! you mean to fell her ? 

Trudge. (Jlairmg) Zounds ' what a devil of a fel- 
low ! Sell Wows ! — my poor, dear, dingy wife ! 

Plant. Come, come, I've heard your ftoryfrom the 
fhip. — Don't let's haggle; I'll bid as fair as any trader 
amengft us : But no tricks upon travellers, young man, 

to raife your price. Your wife, indeed ! Why fhe's 

no Chriftian ? 

Trudge. No ; but I am ; fo I ftialldo as I'd be done 
by, Mafter Black-market : and, if you were a good one 
yourfelf, you'd know, that fellow-feeling for apoor body, 
who wants your help, is the nobleft mark of our reli- 
gion. — I wou'd'nt be articled clerk to fuch a fellow for 
the world. 

Plant. Hey-day! The booby's in love with her! 
Why, fure, friend, you wou'd not live here with a Black? 

Trudge. Plague on't ; there it is. I fliall be laugh'd 
out of my honefly, here. — But you may be jogging, 
friend ; I may feel a little queer, perhaps, at fhowing 
her face — but, dam'me, if ever I do any thing to make 
me afham'd of (bowing my own. 

Plant. Why, I tell you, her very complexion 

Trudge. Rot her complexion. — I'll tell you what, 

Mr. Fair trader: If your head and heart were to change 

C 2 place 


place?, I've a notion you'd be as black in the face as an 

Plant. Pfhaw ! The fellow's a fool— a rude rafcal— * 
heoughtto be fentback to the favages, again. He's not 
fit to live among us chriftians. [Exit, Planter, 

" Trudge. Chriftians ! ah ! tender fouls they arc,, 
" to be fure." 

American Tune» 

" ChriJIians are fo good, theyfay^ 
lender fouls as e'er can be ! 
Let them credit it who jnay j 
JVliat they'' re made of let us fee* 


<« Chrijlian drovers^ charming trade f 

Who fo careful cattle drive \ 
And the tender Chriflian maid^ 
Sweetly fiinning eels alive. 


" Tender tonijh damcSy who take 
Whip in hand J and drive like males^ 

Have thetr ponies nicked — to make 
The pretty creatures cock their tails ! 


<* Chrijlian hoys willjhy at cockSi, 
Worry dogs^ hunt cats^ kill files ; 

Qjriftian Lords will learn to box.. 

And give their nohle friend black eyes.*], 

Oh> here he is at laft. 



Enter Inkle, and afecond Planter. 

Inkle, Nay, Sir, I underftand your cuftoms well : 
your Indian markets are not unknown to me. 

id. Plant. And, as you feem to underftand bufmefs, 
I need not tell you that difpatch is the foul of it. Her 
name you fay is — 

Inkle. Yarico : But urge this no more, I beg you. 
I muft not liften to it : For to fpeak freely, her anxious 
care of me demands, that here, — though here it may 
feem ftrange — I fhould avow my love for her. 

Plant. Lord help you, for a merchant ! — " What a 
" pretty figure you would cut upon Change" — It's the 
firft time I ever heard a trader talk of love ; except, in- 
deed, the love of trade, and the love of the Sweet Molly ^ 
my fhip. 

InMe. Then, Sir, you cannot feel my fituation. 

Plant. Oh yes, I can ! We have a hundred fuch 
cafes juft after a voyage ; but they never laft long on land. 
It's amazing how conftant a young man is in a fhip ! 
But, in two words. Will you difpofe of her, or no ? 

Inkle. In two words then, meet me here at noon, and 
we'll fpeak further on this fubjccl : and left you think 
I trifle with your bufmefs, hear why I wifh this paufe. 
Chance threw me, on my paflage to your ifland, among 
afavage people. Defertcd, — defencelefs, — cut off* from 
mycompanions, — my life at ftake — to this young crea- 
ture I owe myprcfervation ;— fhe found me, like adying 
bough, torn from its kindred branches ; which, as it 
droop'd, ftie moiften'd with her tears. 

Plant. Nay, nay, talk like a man of this world. 

Inkle. Your patience. — And yet your interruption 
goes to my prefent feelings ; for on our fail to this your 

ifland — the thoughts of time mifpent — doubt — fears 

for call it what you will---havc much perplex'd me; 
and as your fpires arofe, reflections ftill rofe with them; 
or here, Sir, liemyinterefts,greatconne6tions,and other 
weighty matters — which now I need not mention > 

Plant. But which her prefence here will mar. 

C 3 InkU 


Inkle. Even fo—- And yet the gratitude I owe her ! 

Plant. Pftiaw ! So becaufe fhe preferv'd your life, 
your gratitude is to malce you give up all you have to 
live upon. 

Inkle, Why in that light indeed — This never ftruck 
me yet, I'll think on't. 

Plant. Aye, aye, do fo — Why vi'hat return can the 
wench wifli more than takingher from a wild, idie:, fa- 
vage people, and providing for her, here, with rcimt.ible 
bird work, in a genteel, poliihed, tender, chriftian 
country ? 

h'Juc. Well, Sir, at noon 

Plant. I'll meet you — but remember, young gen- 
tleman, you muft get her off" your hands— you muft in- 
deed. 1 {liall have her a bargain, I fee that — your 

fervant !--Zounds how late it is--but never be put out 
of your way for a woman— I muft run — my wife will 
play the devil with mefor keeping breakfaft. \^Exit. 

Inkle. Trudge. 

Trudge. Sir ! 

Inkle, Have you provided a proper apartment ? 

Trudge. Yes, Sir, at the Crown here ; a neat, 
fpruce room they tell me. You have not feen fuch a 
convenient lodging this good v;^hile, I believe. 

Inkle. Are there no better inns in the town ? 

Trudge. Urn Why there's the Lion, I hear, 

and the Bear, and the Boar — but we faw them at the 
door of all our late lodgings, and found but bad accom- 
modations within, Sir. 

Inkle. Well, run to the end of the quay, and con- 
duit Yarico hither. The road is ftraight before you : 
you can't mifs it. 

Trudge. Very well, Sir. What a fine thing it is to 
turn one's back on a mafter, without running into a 
wolf's belly ! One can follow one's nofe on a meflage 
here, and be fure it won't be bit off by the way. \^Exit, 

Inkle. Let me reflect a little. " This honcft planter 
*' councils well." Part with her--" What is there in it 
" which cannot cafilybcjuflifiedr" Juftified !--Pfliaw* 
My intcreft, honour, engagements to NarcifTa, all de- 
mand it. My father's precepts, too— I can remember, 




Ti^hen I was a boy, what pains he took to mould me !— 
School'd me from morn to night— and ftill the burthen 
of his fong was— Prudence! Prudence, Thomas, and 
you'll rife.--Early he taught me numbers ;, which he faid 
and he faid rightly— wo-u'd give me a quick view of lofs 
and profit; and banifh from my mind thofe idle impulfes 
of paffion, which mark young thoughtlefs fpendthrifts. 

His maxims rooted in my heart, and as I grew they 

grew; till I was reckoned, among our friends, a Iteady, 
fober, folid, good young man ; and all ';he neighbours 
call'd me the prudent Mr. Thomas. Ar.dfiiall I now, at 
once, kick down the charafter, v/hich I hav^e rais'd io 
warily ?— Part with her»— " fell her,"— -The thought 
once ftruck me in our cabin, as (he lay fleeping by me; 
but, in her flumbers, fhe pad her arm around me, mur- 
mur'd a bleffingon my name, and broke my meditations. 

Enter Yarico ar.d Trudge. 

Tar. My Love ! 

Trudge. I have been fhowing her all the wIgs and 
bales of goods we met on the quay. Sir. 

Tar. Oh ! I have feafted my eyes on wonders. 

Trudge. And I'll go feaft on aflice of beef, in the inn, 
here. \^Exit. 

Tar. My mind has been fo bufy, that I almolt for- 
got even you. I wifti you had ftaid with mc— You 
wou'd have feen fuch fights ! 

Inkle. Thofe fights are grown familiar to me^ Yarico. 

Tar. And yet I wifti they were not— —You might 
partake my pleafures — but now again, methinks, I will 
not wifli fo — for, with too much gazing, you might 
negle£l poor Tarico. 

Inkle. Nay, nay, my care is ftill for you. 

Tar. I'm fure it is : and if I thought it was not, 
I'd tell you talesabout our poor old grot — Bid you re- 
member our Palm-tree near the brook, where in the fhade 
you often ftretchcd yourfelf, while I would take your 
C 4 bead 


head upoA my lap, andfing my love to fleep, I know 
you'll lOve me then. 


Our grotto Tvns thefiveetefi place / 

The bending bows^ voith fragrance blowing. 
Would check the brook's irnpituous pace^ 

IVhich murmured to he jloyt from flowing. 
'"Twos there we- met^ and gazed our fill. 
Ah ! think on thisy and love mcjlill. 


""Twas then my hofom firji knew fear, 
'—Fear, to an Indian maid a flranger— 
The zuar-fong, arrows, hatchet, fpear, 
All warnd me of my lover's danger. 
For him did cares my hofom fill; 
Ah ! think on tins, and love meflilL 


" For him, hy day, with care concealed, 

*' To fearch Jor food I climb' d the mountain j 

** And when the night no form reveal' d, 
*' Jocund we fought the hithhling fountain. 

*' Then, then would joy wv hofom fill ; 

" Ah I think on this, and Lve mejiill." [Exeunt. 

SCENE, An apartment in the houje of Sir Chriftopher 

Enter. Sir CHnRbpTicr and Medium. 

Sir. Chr. I telf yoii,' oldMedium, you are all wrong- 
Plague on your doubts ! Inkle fi?all have my Narciila. 




Poor fellow ! I uare fayhe's finely chagrined at this tem- 
porary parting — Eat up with the blue devils,! warrant, 
Med. Eat up by the black devils, I wanant j for I 
left him in helliih hungry company. 

Sir. Chr. Pfliaw ! he'll arrive with the next veffel, 
depend on't — befides, have not I had this in view ever 
fmce they were children ? I muft and will have it fo, I 
tell you. Is not it, as it were, a marriage made above? 
They _y7W/ meet, I'm pofitive. 

Med. Shall they ? Then they mud: meet where the 
marriage was made ; for hang me, if I think it will ever 
happen below. 

Sir. Chr. Ha ! — and if that is the cafe— hang me, 
if I think you'll ever be at the celebration of it. 

Aled. Yet, let me tell you, Sir Chriftopher Curry, 
my character is asunfullied as a fheet of white paper. 

Sir Chr. Well laid, old fool's-cap ! and it's as mere 
a blank as a fheet of white paper. " It bears the traces 
*' of neither a bad nor a good hand upon it. Zounds ! 
" I had rather be a walking libel on honefty, than fit 
*' down a blank in the library of the world. 

" Med. Well, it is not for me to boaft of virtues : 
" That's a vice I never give into. 

'■^ Sir Chr. Your virtues ! zounds, what are they ? 
" Med. I am not addidled to paffion—that at leafi:, 
" Sir Chrifcopher — 

" Sir Chr. Is like all your other virtues--A nega- 
tive one." You are honeft, old Medium, bycomparifon, 
juft as a fellow fentenc'dto tranfportacion is happier than 
his companion condemned to the gallow<: — Very wor- 
thy, becaufe you are no rogue ; " a good friend, becaufe 
you never bear malice ;" Tender hearted, becaufe you 
nevergo to firesand executions; and an affectionate fa- 
therand hufband, becaufe you never pinch your children, 
or kick your wife out of bed. 

Med. And that, as the world goes, is more than every 
man can fay for himfelf. Yet, iince you force me to 
fpeak my pofitive qualities— but, no matter,— you re- 
member me in London i " and know, there was fcarcely 

" a laud- 


" a laudible inftitutionin town, without my name in the 
" lift. Hav'n'tl given more tickets to recommend the 
" lopping off legs than any Governor of our Hofpital ? 
" and didn't I, as Member of the Humane Society, 
bring a man out of the New River, who, it was after- 
wards found, had done me an injury ? 

Sir Chr. And, dam'me, If I wou'd not kick any man 
into the New River that had done mean injury. There's 
the difference of our honefty. Oons ! if you want to be 
an honeft fellow, a£t from the impulfe of nature. Why, 
you have no more gall than a pigeon. 

" Med. That, I think, is pretty evident in my prl- 

" vate life Patience, patience you muft own. Sir 

" Chriftopher, is a virtue. And I have fat and feen my 
" beft friend abus'd, with as much quiet patience as any 
" Chriflian in Chriftendom. 

" Sir Qhr. And I'd quarrel with any man, that 
*' abus'd my friend in my company. Offending my 
" ears is as bad as boxing them." 

Med. " Ha ! You're always fo hafty; among the 
hodge-podgeof your foibles, paflion is always predomi- 

Sir Chr. So much the better. " A natural man, 

*' unfeafoned with pailion, is as uncommon as a difti of 
" hodge-podge without pepper; anddevilifh infipid too, 
*' old Medium." — Foibles, quotha? foibles are foils 
that give additional luftre to the gems of virture. Yoa 
have not fo many foils as I, perhaps. 

Afed. And, what's more, I don't wan't 'em, Sir 
Chriftopher, I thank you. 

Sir Chr. Very true j for the devil a gem have you 
to fet off" with 'em. 

Ji4cd. Well, well ; I never mention errors ; that, I 
flatter myfclf, is no difagreeable quality It don't be- 
come me to fay you are hot. 

Sir Chr. 'Sblood ! but it does become you : it be- 
j3omes every man, efpccially an Engliftiman, to fpeak 
the di(5lates of his heart. 




« O give 7ne your plain dealing Fellows^ 
'' Jf'^ho never from honejly forink ; 
Not th'mklng on all they Jhoiild tell uSy 
" But telling us all that they think. 



Truth from manjlows like wine from a bottle^ 
*' His free fpohen heart's a full cup ; 
But^ when truth Jlicks halfway in the ihrottle^ 
" Man's worfe than a bottle cork'd up. 


Complaifance^ is a Gingerbread creature-"*^ 

Us' d for fhoiv^ like a watch^ by eachfpark i 
*' But truth is a golden repeater, 

" Thatfets a ?nan right in the dark," 

" Med. But fuppofc his heart dl£latcs to anyone to- 
" knock up your friend, Sir Chriftopher ? 

" Sir Chr. Eh ! why then it becomes me to 

" knock him down. 

*' Med. Mercy on us ! If that was the confequence 
" of fcandal in England now-a-days, all our fine ger.tle- 
" men would cut each other's throats over a b&ttle , and, 
*' if extended to the card-tables, our routs would be 
" fuller of black eyes, than black aces.'* 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. An Englifh vefTel, Sir, juft arrived in the 

Sir Chr. A vcfTel ! Od's my life ! Now for the 

news — If it is but as I hope — Any difpatches ? 

Serv. This letter, Sir, brought by a failor from the 
quay. [Exit. 



<S/> Chr. Now for it ! If Inkle is but amongfl 
*em — Zounds I I'm all in a flutter ; my hand 
« like an afpin leaf; and you, you old fool, are as ftiff 
" and fteady as an oak. Why arn't you like me — all 
" tiptoe — all nerves ? 

Med. Well, read, Sir Chriftopher." 

S/r Chr, (opening the letter.) Huzza ! here it is. 
He's fafe — fafe and found at Barbadoes. 

( Reading. ) 5/V, 

My niajler^ Mr. Inkle^ is juji arrived in your harbour. 
Here, read, read ! old Medium — 

Med. (^Reading.) Um' — Tour harbour \ — ive were 
taken up by an Englifovejfel onthe l\th ult**. He only waits 
till I have puff'd his hair, to pay his refpe£ts to you, and 
Mifs Narcijfa : In the mean time, he has ordered me t» 
brujh up this letter for your honour from 

Tour humble Servant, to command, 

Timothy Trudge. 

Sir Chr, Fley day! Here's a ftile ! the voyage has 
jumbled the fellow's brains out of their places ; the wa- 
ter has made his head turn round. But no matter ; mine 
turns round, too. I'll go and prepare Narcifla diredlly, 
they {hall be married, flap-dafh, as foon as he comes 
from the quay. From Neptune to Hymen ; from the 
hammock to the bridal bed — Ha ! old boy ! 

Med, Well, well ; don't flurry yourfelf— you're fo 
hot ! ^ 

Sir Chr. Hot ! blood, arn't I in the Wefl: Indies ? 
Arn't I Governor of Barbadoes ? He fhall have her as 
foon as he fetshis foot on fhore. " But plague on't, he's 
fo flow." — She fliall rife to him like Venus out of the 
fea. His hair pufPd ! He ought to have been puffing, 
here, out of breath, by thi'= time. 

A'led. Very true ; but Venus's hufoand is always 
fuppofed to be lame, you know, Sir Chriftopher. 



$ir Oor. Well, now do, my good fellow, run down 
to thefhore,and fee what detainshim. [Hurryifig himoff'. 

Med, Well, well ; I will, I will. {Exit. 

Sir Chr. In the mean time, I'll get ready Narcifla, 
and all (hall be concluded in a fccond. My heart's fee 

upon it. Poor fellow! after all his rumbles, and 

tumbles, and jumbles, and fits of defpair—I fhali be re- 
joic'd to fee him. I have not feen him fmce he was 
that high. — But, zounds ' he's fo tardy ! 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. A ftrange gentleman, Sir, come from the 
quay, defires to fee you. 

Sir Chr. From the quay ? Od's my life ! 'Tis 

he— 'Tislnkle! Shov/himup^diredly. (Exit Servant.) 
The rogue is expeditious after all.— I'm fo happy. 

Enter Campley. 

My dear Fellow ! [Embracing him—fl)akes hands. ^ Pm 
jrejoic'd to fee you. Welcome i welcome here, with alt* 
my foul ! 

Camp. This reception, Sir Chriftopher, is beyond 
my warmeft wifhes-— Unknown to you > 

Sir Chr. Aye, aye ; we fhall be better acquainted 
by and by. Well, and how, eh ! Tell me !~But old 
Medium and I have talk'd over your affair a hundred 
times a day, ever fmce Narcifla arriv'd. 

Camp. You fupprife me ! Are you then really ac- 
quainted with the whole affair ? 

Sir Chr. Every tittle. 

Camp. And, can you. Sir, pardon what is pafl ?—« 

Sir Chr. Pooh ! how could you help it ? 

Camp. Very true— failing in the fame fhip—and-- 

Sir Chr. Aye, aye; but we have had a hundred 
conjectures about you. Your defpair and diftrefs, and 

all that Your's mufl have been a damn'd fituation, 

to fay the truth. 

Camp. Cruel indeed. Sir Chriflopher ! and I 
flatter piyfclf will m*ye ygui coflopa.ton. I have 



been almoft inclin'd to defpair, indeed, as you fay, 
but when you confider the paft ftate of my mind 
the black profpecl before me. — 

Sir Chr. Ha ! ha ! Black enough, I dare fay. 

Ca?np. The difficulty I have felt in bringing myfelf 
face to face to you. 

Sir Chr. 'I hat I am convinc'd of — but I knew you 
wou'd come the firft opportunity. 

Camp. Very t/ue : yet the diftance between the 
Govciiior of Barbadoes and myfelf. [Bowi?7g.'\ 

Sir Chr. Yes — a devilifh way afunder. 

Camp. Granted, Sir : which has diftrefs'd me with 
the cruelleft doubts as to our meeting. 

Sir Chr. It v/as a tofs up. 

Camp. The eld Gentleman feems develifh kind. 

Now to foften him. [Jjide] Perhaps, Sir, in your 
younger days, you may have been in the fame fitua- 
tion yourfelf. 

Sir Chr. Who ? I ! fblood I no, never in my life. 

Camp. I wifti you had, with all my foul, Sir Chrif- 

Sir Chr. Upon my foul, Sir, I am very much ob. 
liged to you. {Bowing) 

Camp. As what I now mention might have greater 
weight with you. 

Sir Chr. Pooh ! prithee ! I tell you I pitied you 
from the bottom of my heart. 

Camp. Indeed ! " Had you but been kind enough 
" to have fent to me, how happy fhould I have been 
" in attending your commands ! 

" Sir Chr. I believe you wou'd, egad — ha ! ha ' 
" fent to you ! Very well ! ha ! ha ! ha ! A dry 
*' rogue ! You'd have been ready enough to come my 
*' boy, I dare fay. (Laughing. ) 

Camp. " But now, Sir j"' if, with your leave, I may 
ftill venture to mention Mifs Narciila — 

Sir Chr. An impatient, fenfiblc young dog ! like 
me to a hair ! Set your heart at roll, my boy. She's 
your's ; your's before to-morrow morning. 

Carfip. Amazement ! I can fcarce belie\ e mv fenfes. 



Sir Chr. Zounds ! you ought to be ought of your 
fenfes: but difpatch— make fhort work of it, ever while 
you live, my boy. 

Enter Narcifla and Patty. 

Here girl : here's your fwain. [To Nar. 

Camp, I juft parted with my Narcifla, on the quay, 

Sir Chr. Did you ! Ah, fly dog had a meeting 

before you came to the old Gentleman. — But here — 
Take him, and make much of him~and, for fear of fur- 
ther reparations, you fhall e'en be tack'd together di- 
redtly. What fay you, girl ? 

Camp. Will my Narcifla confent to my happlnefs ? 

Nar. 1 always obey my father's commands, witk 
pleafure. Sir. 

Sir Chr. Od ! I'm fo happy, I hardly know which 
way to turn ; but we'll have the carriage diredlly ; drive 
down to the quay ; trundle old Spintext into church j 
and hey for matrimony ! 

Camp. With all my heart, Sir Chriftopher; the 
(boner the better. 

5/r Christopher, Campley, Narcissa, 

Sir Chr. Tou^ Colinettes, and Jrriettes, 
Tour Damons of the grove, 
fVho like Fallals , and Pajioralsy 

IVaJh years in love ! 
But modern folks know better jokes^ 

And, courting once begun. 
To church they hop at once — and pop — 
Egad, aWs done ! 

All. In life we prance a country dance, 

IVhere every couple Jlands ; 
Their partners fet — a while curvett'-" 
But fion join hands. 



Nar. JVhcn at ourfeet^ fo trim and neat, 
The powder'' d lover fues^ 
He vows be dies, the lady Jig hsy 

But can't refuje. 
Ah ! how can Jhe umnov'd e' re fee 

Herfwain his death incur F 
If cnce the Squire is feen expire^ 
He lives with her. 
All, Jn life, Uc. i^c, 

Patty. Jfljen John and Bet a^'e fairly met, 
fohn boldly tries his luck ; 
Hejleals a hufs, vSithout more fufs. 

The bargain's Jlruck. 
IVhilJl things heloiu are goi'ng fo. 

Is Betty pray to blame f 
iFho knows upjiairs, her mijlrefs fares 
Jufi, juji the fame. 

All, In life we prance, ^c.^c, [Exeunt] 

End of the SECOND ACT. 



SCENE I. TZ'* ^ay. 
Enter P«tty. 

J. VX E RC Y on us ! what a walk I have hud of it ! 
WelJ, matters go on fwimmingly at the governor's--- 
The old gentleman has order'd the carri^ige, and the 
young couple will be v/hifk'd, here, tg church, in a quar- 
ter of an hour. My bunnefs is to prevent young fober- 
fides^ young Inkle, from appearing, t^^ interrupt the cere- 
mony.— Ha! here's the Crown, where I hear he is hous'd. 
So now to find Trudge^ and trump up a ftory, in the true 
ftile of a' chambermaid. (Goes into the hoi' fe.) (Patty 
tvkhin) I tell you it don't fignify, and I will come up. 
(Trudge withiiii) Bat it docs hgnify, and you can't 
come up; 

Re-enter Patty, tvith Trudge. 

Patty. You had better fay at onccj I fhan'ti 

Trudge. Well then you man't. 

Patty. Savage ! Pretty behaviour you have pick'd 
Tip amongft the Hyttypots ! Your London civility, likei 
I^ondon itfelf, will foon be loft in fmoke^ Mr. Trudge 3 
and the politencfs you have IhiJicd fo long in Fhread- 
needle-ltrcet, blotted out by the blacks you have beerl 
living with; 

Trudge. No fuch thing ; I praclis'd my politencfs all 
the while I was in the Woods. Our very lodging taugiit 
me good manjiers ; for I could never bring myfcU to 
go into it wiihout bov/ing< 

Patiy. Don't tell me ! A mighty civil reception 
you give a b^dy, truly, after a fix weeks parting : 

D Trud^-e, 


Trudge. Gad, you're right; I am a little out here, 
to be Cure. (KiJJes her.) Well, how do you do ? 

Patty. Pfhaw, fellow ! I want none of your IcifTes. 

Trudge. Oh! very well —I'll take it again. (Offers 
to kifs her.) 

Fatty. Be quiet. I want to fee Mr. Inkle : I have 
a meffage to him from Mifs Narcill'a. I Ihall get a fight 
of him, Now, I believe. 

Trudge. May be not. He's a little bufy at prefent. 

Patty. Bufy-— ha ! Plodding ! What he's at his 
multiplication again ? 

Trudge. V^ery likely ; fo it would be- a pity to inter • 
rupt him, you know. 

Patty. Certainly ; and the whole of my bufinefs 
was to prevent his hurrying himfelf — Tell him, we 
Ihan't be ready to receive him, at the Governor's, till 
to-morrov/ d'ye hear ? 

Trudge. No ? 

Patty. No. Things are not prepared. The place 
isn't in order ; and the fervants have not had proper no- 
tice of the arrival. 

Trudge. Oh ! let me alone to give the fervants notice 
-Rat— Tat— Tat--It's all the notice we had in Tread- 
needle-ftrcet of the arrival of a vifitor. 

Patty. Threadneedle-ftreet ! Thrcadneedlenonfenfe! 
I'd have you to know we do every thing, here, with an 
air. Matters have taken another turn — Stile ! Stile, 
Sir, is required here, I promlfe you. 

Trudge. Turn— Stile ! And pray what Stile wild 
fcrve your turn nov/, Madam Patty ? 

Patty. A due dignity and decorum, tobe fure. Sir 
Chriftopher intends Mr. Inkle, you know, for his fon- 
in-law, and muft receive him in public form, (which 
can't be till to-morrow morning) for the honor of his 
governorfhip : why the whole ifland will ring of it. 

Trudge. The devil it will ! 

Patty. Yes ; they've talk'd of nothing but my mif- 
trefs's beauty and fortune, for thcfe fix weeks. Then 
he'll be introduced to the bride, you know. 

Trudge. O, my poor maf'cer ! 

Putty » Then a publick breakfafij then a procefTion'; 



then— if nothing happens to prevent it, he'll get into 
church and be married, in a crack. 

Trudge. Then he'll get into a damn'd fcrape, in a 

'" Patty. Hey-day ! a fcrape ! The holy ftate of ma- 
trimony ! 

Trudge. Yes ; it's plaguy holy ; and many of its vo- 
taries, as in other holy ftates, live in repentance and mor- 
tification." Ah ! Poor Madam Yarico ! My poor pil- 
garl ickofamafter, what vi^ill become of him ! [Halfafule.) 

Patty. Why, what's the matter with the booby ? 

Trudge. Nothing, nothing he'll be hang'd for 


Patty. Polly who ? 

Trudge. It muft out — Patty I 

Patty. Well? 

Trudge. Can you keep a fecret ? 

Patty. Try me ! 

Trudge. Then [TFZ'^mwg"] MyMafter keepsagirl. 

Patty. Oh monftroLis ! another woman ? 

Trudge. As fure as one and one make two. 

Patty. [A/idc] Rare news for my millrefs ' — Why 
I can hardly believe it ; the grave, fly, fteady, Ibber Mr. 
Inkle, do fuch a thing I 

Trudge. Pooh ! it's always your fly, fober fellows, 
that go the mod after the girls. 

Patty. Well; I fhould fooner fufpe£l r5«. 

Trudge. Me? Oh Lord! he! he !— Do you think 
any fmart, tight, little, black eyed wench, wou'd be 
flruck with my figure ? [conceitedly.'] 

Patty. Pfhaw ! never mind your figure. Tell me 
how it happen'd ? 

Trudge. You (hall hear : when the fhip left us afhore, 
my malicr turn'd as pale as a fheet of paper. It isn't 
every body that's blefi: with courage, Patty. 

Patty. 'True ! 

Trudge. However, I bid him cheer I'p ; told hira, 
to ftick to m.y elbow : took the lead, and began our 

Patiy. Well? 

Trudge. We hadn't gone far, when a damn'd one- 
l5 2 eyed 


eyed black boar, that grinn'd like a devil, came down 
the hill in jog trot! My mafter melted as fail as a pot 
of pomatum ! 

Patty. Mercy on us ! 

Trudge. Butwhat does I do, but whips out my defk 
knife, that I us'd to cut the quills with at home; met 
the monftcr, and flit up his throat like a pen — The 
boar bled like a pig. 

Patty. Lord ! Trudge, what a great traveller you 

Trudge, Yes ; I remember we fed on the flitch for 
a week^ 

Patty. Welly well ; but the Lady. 
Trudge. The Lady ? Oh, true. By and by wc 
came to a cave — a large hollow room, under grounds- 
like a warehoufe in the Adclphi — Well ; there we were 
half an hour, before I could get him to go in ; there's 
no accounting for fear you know. At laft, in we went 
to a place hung round with fkins, as it might be a 
Furrier's fhop, and' there was a fine Lady, fnoaring on 
a bow and arrows. 

Patty. What, all alone ? 

Trudge. Eh ! No no-— Hum^ She had a 

young lion by way of a lap-dog. 

Patty. Gemini ; what did you do ? 

Trudge. Gave her a jog, and fhe open'd her eyes — 
file ftruck my mafter immediately. 

Patty. Mercy on us ! with v/hat ? 

Trudge. With her beauty, you Ninny, to be fiire i 
and they foon brought matters to bear. The wolves 
witnefs'd the contract — ^I gave her away— The crows 
eroak'd Amen ; and we had board and lodging for ' 

Patty. And this is fhe he has brought to Barbadoes ? 

Trudge. The fame. 

Patty. Well ; nnd tell me Trudge ; — flie*s pretty^ 
you fay — Is {he fair or brown ? or 

Trudge. Um ! {he's a good comely copper. 

Patty. How ! a Tawney ? 

Trudge. Yes, quite dark ; but very elegant ; like a 
Wedgwood tea-pot. 



Patty. Oh ! the monfter ! the filthy fellow I Live 
with a black-a-moor ! 

"Trudge. Why theie's no great harm in't, I hope ? 
Patty. Faugh ! I wou'dn't let him kifs me for the 
world : he'd make my face all fmutty. 

Trudge. Zounds ! you are mighty nice all of a fud- 
den ; but I'd have you to knovi'. Madam Patty, that 
Blackamoor Ladies, as you call 'em, are fome of the 
very few, v/hofe complexions never rub off ! S'bud, if 
they did, Wows and I ftiou'd have changed faces by this 
time — But mum ; not a word for your life. 

Patty. Not I ! except to the Governor and family. 
\_Jftde.'] But I muft run — and, remember, Trudge, if 
your mafter has made a millake here, he has himfelf to 
thank for his pains. 


Tho^ lovers^ like markfmeriy all aim at the hearty 

Some hit zvide «f the 7narky as we wenches all blow j 

JStit of all the badfbotSy he's the worji in the art 

Who Jhoots at a pigeon^ and kills a crow O ho ! 

Tour majier has kill'd a croiv* 


fVhen younkers go outy the fir jl time in their UveSy 
At random they Jhooty and let fly as they go ; 

So your majter, unjkill'd hciu to level at wiveSy 
Has Jliot at a pigeon, and kill'd a crow, 
ho ! ^c. 


Love and ?noney thus luajiedy in terrible trim f 

His powder is fpenty and his /hot running low : 
Tet the pigeon he mi/s'dy Pve a notion^ zvith him 
Will nevery for finch a mifiakcy pluck a crotu. 
No ! no ! 
Tour mafiler may keep his croiu. 
[Exit Patty, 

Trudge. Pfhaw \ thefe girls are fo plaguy proud of 

their white and red ! but I won't be fhamed out of 

D 3 Wows, 


Wows, that's flat. Mafler, tobefure, while v/e were? 
in the forert, taught Yarico to read, with his pencil and 
pocket-book. What then ? Wows comes on line and 
fall: in her leiTons. A little awkward at firft, to be fure, 
— Ha ! ha ! — She's fo us'd to feed with her hands, that 
I can't get her to eat her victuals, in a genteel, Chriftian 
way, for the foul of me; whenfhe has Ituck a morfel on 
her fork, fhe don't know how to guide it ; but pops up 
her knuckles to her mouth, and the meat goes up to her 
ear. But, no matter — After all the fine, flaftiy London 
girls, Wowlki's the wench for my money. 


A Clerk I luas in London gay^ 

yc7nmy llnkiim feedle^ 
And went in hoots to Jee the plciy^ 

Merry fiddhni tweedle, 
I march'' d the lobhy^ twirl'd my Jlich^ 

Diddle,, daddle^ deedle ; 
The girls all crfd^ " He's quite the kick.'* 

Oh^ 'Jemmy Unkumfeedk. 



liey ! for America I jail ^ 

lankee doodle deedle ; 
The Jailor boys cry'd^ *-^ jinoke his tail!" 

Jemmy linkuin feedlc . ' 
On Englijh belles I turned my back^ 

Diddle^ daddle^ deedle ; 
And got a foreign Fair^ quite Blacky 

twaddle.^ twaddle^ tveedle ! 


Your London girls, with roguijh trip^ 

Wheedle, tvhcedle, wheedle. 
May honjl their pouting under-lip^ 

Fiddle, faddle, feedle. 
My Wows wou'dbeat a hundred fuch 

Diddle, daddle, deedle, 
Whoje upper-lip pouts twice as inuch, 

Oj pretty double wheedle I 

IV. Rings 



Rings ril buy to deck her toes ; 

"Jemmy Unkum fecdle ; 
A feather fine Jhall grace her nofe : 

IVaving fiddle feedle . 
IVith jealoufy I ne'er Jloall burfl ; 

Who'd fleal my hone of bone-a ? 
A white Othello^ I can truji 

yi dingy Defdemona. [Exit] 

5 C E N E II. A room in the Qr^v/n, 

Enter. Inkle. 

I know not what to think — I have given her diftant 
hints of parting ; but ftill, fo ftrong her confidence in 
my affe6lion, fhe prattles on withoutregarding me. Poor 
Yarico! I muft not — cannot quit her. When I would 
fpeak, her look, her mere fimplicitydifarms me: I dare 
not wound fuch innocence. Simplicity is like a fmiling 
babe ; which, to the ruffian, that would murder it, 
ftretching its little, naked, heiplefs arms, pleads, fpeech- 
lefs, its own caufe. And yet NarcilTa's lamily — 

Enter. Trudge. 

Trudge. There he is, like a beau befpeaking a coat 
- — doubting which colour to chufe — Sir — 

Inkle. What now ? 

Trudge. Nothing unexpected, Sir :-r-I hope you 
won't be angry. 

Inkle. Angry I 

Trudge. I'm forry for it; but I am come to give you 
joy, Sir ! 

Inkle. Joy ! of what ? 

Trudge. A wife, Sir ; a white one. — I know it will 
vex you, but Mifs NarcifTa means to make you happy, 
to-morrow morning. 

D 4 Jnkle,. 


Inkle. To-mcrrow ! 

Trudge^ Yes, fir; and as I have been out of em-, 
ploy, in both my capacities, lately, after I have diefs'd 
your hair, I may draw up the marriage articles. 
Inkle. Whence comes your intelligence, ilr ? 
Trudge. Fatty told me all that has pafVd in the Go- 
vernor's family, on the quay, hr. V^'cmen, you knov\% 
can never keepa iecret. You'll be introduc'd in form, 
wi'h the vi'hcle ifland to witnefs it. 

Inkle. So public too ! Unlucky ! 

Trudge. There will b? noLnrng but rejoicings, in to the vi'edding, fhe tells nie ; all noifc and 
Xiproar ! Iviarried people like it, they fay. 

htkle. Strange ! That I fliould be fo blind to my 
intereft, as to be the only per fon this diftrciies ! 

Trudge. They are talking of nothing cife but the 
match, it feems. 

Jnkle. Confufion ! How can I, in honor, rctracl ? 

Trudge, And the bride's merits 

ivkle. True ! — A fund of merits ! — I vi^oa'd not — 
tut from necefiity — a cafe fo nice as this- -i — wou'd 
not wifli to rctrad. 

Trudge. Then they call her fo handfome. 
Inkle. Very true ! fo handfome ! the whole world 
wou'd laugh at me : they'd call it folly to retract. 
Trudge. And then they fay fo much of her fortune. 
Inkle. O death ! it would be madticjs to renacl, 
Surely, my faculties have flcpt, and this long parting, 
from my Narcifia, has blunted my fcnib of iier accom- 
plifliments. 'Tis this alone m.akes me fo weak and 
wavering. I'll fee her immediately. [Going.'] 

Trudge. Stay, flay, fir ; I am defir'd to tell you, 
the Governor won't open his gates to us till to-mor- 
row morning, and is now making preparations to re- 
ceiveyou atbreakfafl, withalhhehonoursof matrimony. 
Inkle. Well, be it foj it will give mc time, at all 
events, to put my affairs in train. 

Trudge. Yes ; it's afhort refpite before execution j 
and if your honour was to go and comfort poor Madam 




Inkle. Damnation ! Scoundrel, how dare you oiFer 
your advice ? — I dread to think of her ! 

Trudge. I've done, fir, I've done— But I know I 
fliould blubber over Wows all night, if I thought of 
parting with her in the morning. 

Inkle. Infolence i begone, fir ! 

Trudge. Lord, fir, I only 

Inkle. Get down ftairs, fir, directly. 

Trudge. [Going out.] Ah ! you may well put your 
hand to your head ; and a bad head it muft be, to for- 
get that Madam Yarico prevented her countrymen from 
peeling off the upper part of it. (Jjule. ) [Exit, 

Inkle. 'Sdeath, what am I about? How have I (lum- 
bered ? " Roufe, roufe, good Thomas Inkle !" Is it I-- 
I— who, in London, laugh'd at the younkers of the town 
— and when I ;"hw their chariot?, with fome fine, tempt- 
ing g^rl, perk'd in the corner, come {hopping to thecity, 
wou' Jcry — Ah ! — there fits ruin— there dies the Green- 
horn's money ! then wonder'd with my felf how men cou'd 
trifle time on women ; or, indeed, think of any women 
without fortunes. And now, forfooth, it rells, with }ni 

to turn romantic puppy, and give up All for Love 

Giveup!—Oh,monilrousfoljy!--thirtythoufand pounds! 

Trudge. (Peepittg in at the door.) 

Trudge. May I come in, fir ? 

Inkle. What does the booby want ? 

Trudge. Sir, your uncle wants to fee y(7«. 

Inkle^ Mr. Medium ! Ihow him updirecSHy. 

[Exit Trudge, 
He muft not know of this. To-morrow ! — " I muft be 
*' bhmt with Yarico." I wifh this marriage were more 
diftant, that I might break it to her by degrees : She'd 
take my purpofe better, were it lefs fuddenly deliver'd, 
'' WomeJi's weak minds bear grief, as colts do burdens : 
*■*■ Load them with their full wieght at once, and they 
" fink under it ; but, every day, add little, imper- 
" ceptibly, to little, 'tis wondiPrful how much they'll 
" parry." 



Entei' Medium. 

Aled. Ah ! here he is ! Give mc your hand, Nephew ! 
welcome, welcome to Barbadoes, with all my heart. 

Jnkle. I am glad to meet you here, Uncle ! 

jVItil. That}ou are, that you arc, I'm fure. Lord! 
Lord ! when we parted lafl, how I wifh'd we were in 
a room together, if it was but the black hole ! ''• Since 
we lundcr'd," I have not been able to fleep o'nights, for 
thinking of you. I've laid awake, andfaiiciedl law you 
Sleeping vour laft, with your head in the lion's mouth, 
for a night-cap ; and I've never fccn a bear brought 
over, to dance about the ftreet, but I thought you might 
be bobbing up and down in its belly. 

Inkle. I am very much oblig'd to you. 

Med. Ay, ay, I am 'happy enough to find you fafe 
and found, 1 promife vou. "^^ Why, I've been hunting 
*' you all over the quav,and been in half tlic houfes uj-'- 
*' on it, before I could hnd you ; i Ihould have been 
" here fooner elfe. Whew !— I'm fo warm—I've run 
tc as faft 

" h'.klc. As you did in the forcft — Eh ! Mr. Me- 
*' dium ? 

" Med. Well, well ; thank heaven we are both 
" out of the foreft ! Hounflovv-heath at dufk is a trific 
" to it. I fhall never fee a tree without Ihaking, and, 
*' I cou'd not walk in a grove again with comfort, tho' 
" it were in the middle of Paradife." But, you have a 
fine profpedl before you now, young man. I, am come 
to take you with me to Sir Chriflopher, who is impa- 
tient to fee you. 

Jnkle. To-morrow, I hear, he cxpecSls me. 

Alid. To-morrow! diretttl) this— moment — in 

half a fecond. — I left him Itanding on tip-toe, as he 
calls it, to embrace you ; and he's Handing on tip-toe 
now in the great parlour, and there he'll ftand till you 
come to him. 

Jnkle. Is he fo hafty ? 

Med. Hafty ! he's all pepper— and wonders you are 
not with him, before it's poflible to get at him. Hulty 

indeed I 


indeed I Why he vows you fhall have his daughter this 
very night 

Inkle. What a ^.fuation ! 

Med. Why, it's hardly fair juft after a voyage. 
But come, buftle, buftle, he'll think you negledl him. 
He's rare and touchy, 1 can tell you ; and if he once 
takes it into his head that you fhow the leaft flight to 
his daughter, it wou'd knock up all your fchemes in a 

Jnkle. Confullon! IfhefhouldhearofYarico! ('y^if.J 

Med. But at prefcnt you are all and all with him; 
he hasbeenic'ilingmehis intentions thefe fix v/eeks, you'll 
be a fine warm hufband, I promife you. 

Inkle. This curfed connection I {Jfide. 

Med. It is not for me, though, to tell you how to play 
your cards ; you are a prudent young man, and can 
make calculations in a wood. " I need not tell you 
*' that the leaft tnadow of affront difobliges a tefty old 
" fellow: but, remember,! never fpeakillofmyfriends.'* 

Inkle. Fool! fool! fool! (Jfide.) 

Med. Why, what the devil is the matter with you? 

Inkle. It mud: be done efFe6lually, or a!l isloft ; mere 
parting would not conceal it. {Jfide. 

Med. Ah ! now he's got to his dami\'d Square Root 
again, I fuppofe, and Old Nick would not move him— 
Why, nephew ' 

Inkle. The planter that I fpoke with cannot be ar- 
riv'd. — but time is precious — the firft I meet — com- 
mon prudence now demands it. I'm fix'd ; I'll part 
with her. [Jfide.) [Exit. 

Med. Damn me, but he's mad ! The woods have 
turn'd the poor boy's brains ; he's fcalp'd, and gone 
trazy ! Hoho ! Inkle! Nephew' Gad, I'll fpoil your 
arithmetick, I warrant me. [Exit» 

SCENE, The ^wy. 

Enter Sir Chriftopher Curry. 

Sir Chr. Ods my life ! I can fcarce contain my hap- 
pinefs. I have left them fafc in church in the middle of 



the ceremony. I ought to have given Narcifla away, 
they told me i but I caper'd about lb much for joy, that 
Old Spintext advifed me to go and cool my heels on the 
quay, till it was all over. Od, I'm To happy ; and they 
fiull fee> HOWj what an old fellow can do at a wedding. 

Enter Inkle. 

/«l/^. Now for di^atch I Hark*ee, old gentleman { 
[is the governor. ) 

Sir Chr. Well, young gentleman ? 

Jn^le. If I miftake not, 1 know your bu^'nefs here. 

Sir Chr. 'Egad 1 believe half the ifland knows it, by 
this time. 

Inkle. Then to the point — I have a female, whom I 
wiih to part with. 

Sir Chr. Very likely ; it's a common cafe, now a- 
£ays, with many a man. 

Inkle. If you could fatisfy mc you would ufe her 
mildlv, and treat her with more kindnefs than isufual — 
for I can tell you fhe's of no common fiamp — perhaps 
we might agree. 

Sir Chr. Oho! aflave! Faith, now I think on't, my 
daughter may want an attendant or two extraordinary ; 
and as you 'fay fhe's a delicate girl, above the common 
run, and none of your thick-lip'd, flat nos'd, fquabby^ 
dumpling dowdies, 1 don't much care if — 

Inkle. And for her treatment — 

Sir Chr. Lookye, young man ; I love to be plain: I 
fhall treat her a good deal better than you wou'd,Ifancy ; 
for, though I witnefs this cuftom everyday, I can't help 
thinking the only cxcufe for buying our fellow creatures, 
is to refcue 'em from the hands of thofe who are unfeel- 
ing enough to bring them to market. 

Inkle. " Somev/hat too blunt, Sir; I am no common 
trafficker, dependantupon proud rich plantars." Fair 
words old gentleman j an finglifhman v/on't put up an 

Sir C!)r. An Englifhman! More fh a me for you ' 
•* Let Englifhmenbiufh at fuch pradtices," Men, who 



to fully feel the bleflings of liberty, are doubly cruel tn 
iicpriving the helplefs of their freedom. 
" IttkU. Confufion ! 

" Sir Chr. 'Tis not my place tofay fo much ; but 
I can't help fpeaking my mind. 

Inkle. 1 muft be cool" —Let me afTure you, Sir, 
'lis not my occupation ; but for a priva'.^ reafon— an in- 

Itant prcfling neceifity 

Sir Chr. Well, well, I have a preffing neccflity too; 
I can't ftand to talk now ; I expert company here pre- 
fently ; but if you'll afkformeto-morrow, attheCaftie— 
Jnkle. The Caftle ! 

Sir Chr. Aye, Sir, the Caftle j the Governor's 
Caftle ; known all over Barbadoes* 

Inkle. 'Sdcath, this man muft be on the Governor's 
cftablifhment : his fteward, perhaps, andfent after me, 
while Sir Chriftopher is impatiently waiting for me, 
I've gone too far j my fecret may be knovvn— As 'tis, 
I'll win this fellow to my intereft. (to him) One word 
niore, Sir: my bufmefs muft be done immediately; and 
vis you feem acquainted at the Caftle, if you fhould fee 

me there— and there I mean to fleep to-night 

Sir Chr. The Devil you do ! 
Inkle. Your finger on your lips j and never breathe a 
fyllable of this tranfaftion. 
Sir Chr, No ! Why not ? 

Inkle. Becaufe, for reafons, which perhaps you'll 
know to-morrow, I might be injured with the Gover- 
nor, whofe moft particular friend lam. 

Sir Chr. So ! here's a particular friend of mine, 
coming to Heep at my houfe, that I never faw in my life, 
I'll found this fellow. [Jfide.{ I fancy young gentlemaru,, 
as you are fuch a bofom friend of the Governor'?, yoa 
can hardly do any tiling to alter your iituation with him? 
" I ftiou'dn't imagine any thing could bring him to 
** think a bit worfe of you than he does at prclcnt." 

Inkle. Oh ' pardon me ; but you'll find that hero- 
after — befides, you, doubtlcfs know his charac^lcr ? 

Sir Chr. Oh, as well as I do my own. But let's 
underftand one another. Ycumay truft me, now you've 



gone fo far. You arc acquainted with his chara6lcr, no 
doubt, to a hair ? 

Inkle. I am — I fee we fhall underftand each other. 
You know him too, I fee as well as I.-- A very touchy, 
tefty, hot old fellow. 

Sii- Chr. Here's a fcoundrel ! 1 hot and touchy ! 
2k)unds ! I can hardly contain my pafllon ! — But I 

won't difcover myfelf- I'll fee the bottom of this 

(to him). Well now, as we fecm to have come to a to- 
lerable explanation — Let's proceed to bufmefs — Bring 
me the woman. 

Inkle. No ; there you muft cxcufe me. I rather 
wou'd avoid feeing her more ; and v/ilh it to be fettled 
without my feeming interference. My prefence might 
diftrefs her — You conceive me ? 

Sir Chy. Zounds! what an unfeeling rafcal !--Thc 
poor girl's in love with him, 1 fuppofe. No, no, fair and 
open. My dealing's with you, and you only: I fee her 
now, or I declare off. 

Inkle. Well then, you muft be fatisfied : yonder's 
my fervant--ha-a thought has ftruck me. Come here, 

Enter Trudge. 

I'll write my purpofe, and fendit her by him — It^s 
lucky that I taught her to decyphcr characters j my la- 
bour now is paid. {T^akcs out his pocket-book and writes.) 
—This is fomewhat lefs abrupt j 'twill foften matters. 
(to hifufelf.) Give this to Yarico ; thenbrijig her hither 
with you. 

Trudge. I fliall, Sir. (Going.) 

Inkle. Stay; comeback. This foft fool. If unin- 
ftru6ted, may add to her diftrefs : his drivelling fympa- 
thy may feed her grief, inftead of foothing it. — When 
fhe has read this paper, fcem to make light of it ; teil 
her it is a thing ofcourfe, done purely for her good. I 
here inform her that I muft part with her. D'ye under- 
iland your lefton ? 

Trudge. Pa— part with Ma — madam Ya-ric-o ! 


Inkle. Why does the blockhead ftammer ! — I have 
my reafons. No muttering — And let me tell you, fir, 
if" your rare bargain were gone too, 'twou'd be the bet- 
ter : (he may babble our ftory of the foieft, and fpoil my 

Trudge. I'm forry for it, fir ; I have lived with you a 
long while; I've half a year's wages toodue the 2^th ult". 
due for drefling your hair, and fcribbling your parch- 
ments ; but take my fcribbling; take my frizzing; 
take my wages ; and I, and Wows, will take ourfelves 
off together — fne fav'd my live, and rot me, if any 
thing but death ftiall part us. 

Ifik/e. Impertinent ! Go, and deliver your meflage-. 

Trudge. I'm gone, fir. Lord, Lord I I never car- 
rieda letter with I'uch ill will inall my born days. [Exit. 

Sir Chr. Well-fhall I fee the girl ? 

Jnkle, She'll be here prefently. One thing I had 
forgot : when ihe is .your's, I need not caution you, 
after the hints I've given, to keep her from the caftle. 
If Sir Chriitopher ihould fee her, 'twould lead, you 
know, to a difcovery of what I wifti conceal'd. 

Sir Chr. Depend upon ?ne — Sir Chriflopher will 
know no more of our meeting, than he does at this 

Inkle. Your fecrecy {hall not be unrewarded ; I'll 
recommend you, particularly, to his good graces. 

Sir Chr. Thank ye, thank ye ; but I'm pretty much 
in his good grace?, as it is ; I don't know any body he 
has a greater reipecc for. 

Re-enter l rudge. 

Inkle. Now, Sir, have you perform'd yaur mefTagc' 

Trudge. Yes, I gave her the letter. 

Inkle. And where is Yarico? didfhe fayfhe'dcon^e? 
didn't you do as you were orJer'd ? didn't you ipeak to 
her r 

Trudge. I cou'dn't, fir, I cou'dn't — I intended 
to fay what you bid me— but I felt fuch a pain in my 
throat, I cou'dn't fpeaka word, for the foul of me j and 



fo, Sir, I fell a crying. 

Inkle. Blockhead ! 

Sir Chr. 'Sblood, but he's a very honcft blockhead. 
Tell me, my good fellow— what faid the wench ? 

Trudge. Nothing at all, fir. She fat down with her 
two hands clafp'd on her kjices, and look'd fo pitifully 
in my face, I cou'd not ftand it. Oh, here fh/.- come.^. 
I'll go and find Wows ; if I muft be melancholy, flic 
Ihall keep my company. [Exit. 

Sir Chr. Ods my life, as comely a wenchj as ever 

Enter Yarico, who looks for fame tinie in Inkle*s face^ 
burjh into tears^ and falls on his neck. 

Inkle* In tears ! nay, Yarico ! why this ? 

Yar. Oh do not — do not leave me : 

Inkle. Why, fmiple girl ! I'm labouring for your good< 
My intereft-, here, is nothing : I can do nothing from 
myfelf, you are ignorant of our country's cuftonis. I 
muft give way to men more powerful, who will not 
have me with you. But fee, my Yarico, ever anxious 
for your welfare, I've found a kind, good perfon who 
will protect you. 

Tarico. Ah ! why not you prote(51: me "^ 

Inkle. I have no means— how can I ? 

Yarico. Juft as I fheltered you. Take me to yon- 
der mountain, where I fee no fmoke from tall, high 
houfes, fiU'd with your cruel countrymen. None of 
your princes, there, will come to take me from you. 
And mould they ftray that way, we'll find a lurking 
place, juft like my own poor cave ; where many a day 
I fat befide you, and blefs'd the chance that brought you 
to it — that I might fave your life. 

Sir Chr. His life ! Zounds ! my blood boik at the 
fcoundrel's ingratitude ! 

Yar, Come, come, let's go. I always feared thcfe 
cities. Let's fly and feck the woods ; and there we'll 
wander hand in hand together. No cares fliall vex us 



then — We'll let the day glide by in idlenefs ; and you 
{hall fit in the fhade, and watch the fun beam playing on 
the brook, while I fing the fong that pleafes you. 
No cares, love, but for food — and we'll live cheerily I 
warrant — In the frefh, early morning, you fhall hunt 
down our game, and I will pick you berries — and then, 
at night I'll trim our bed of leaves, and lie me down in 
peace~Oh ! we (hall be fo happy !■ 

Inkle. " This is mere trifliiig— the trifling of an un- 
*' enlighten'd Indian." Hear me Yarico. My coun- 
trymen and yours differ as much in minds as in com- 
plexions. We were not born to live in woods and 

caves to feek fubfiftance by purfuing beafts We 

chriftians, girl, hunt money ; a thing unknown to you 
—But, here, 'tis money which brings us eafe, plenty, 
command, power, everything; and of courfe happinefs. 
You are the bar to my attaining this ; therefore 'tis 

neceiTary for my good and which 1 think youi 

value— i 

Yarico, You know I do; fo much, that It would 
break my heart to leave you. 

Inkle. But we muft part : If you are feen with me, 
I fhall lofeall. 

Tar. I gave up all for you-— my friends — my coun- 
try : all that was dear to me : and ftill grown dearer 
fuice you Ihelter'd there — AH, all was left lor you — and 
were it now to do again— again I'd crofs the feas, and 
follow you, all the world over. 

Inkk. We idle time ; Sir, {lie is your's. See yoa 
obey this gentleman ; 'twill be the better for you. 

Tar. O barbarous I (holding hi?n) Do not, do not 
abandon me ! 

I?!kJe. No more. 

Tar. Stay but a little : I {lian't live long to be a 
burden to you : Your cruelty has cut me to the heart- 
Prote6l me but a little — or Til obey this man, and un- 
dergo all hard(hips for your good ; flay but to witnefs 
'em. ~I foon fliall fmk with grief; tarry till then ; and 
hear meblefs yourname when lam dying j and beg you, 
E now 


now and then, when I am gone, to heave a figh for your 
poor Yarico. 

Inkle. I dare not liften. You, Sir, I hope, will take 
good care of her. (going.) 

Sir Chr. Care of her ! — that I will — I'll cherifli 
her like my ©wn daughter ; and pour balm into the heart 
of a poor, innocent girl, that has been wounded by the 
artifices of a fcoundrel. 

Inkle. Hah ! 'Sdeath, fir, how dare you ! — 

Sir Chr. 'Sdeath, Sir, how dare you look an honeft 
man in the face ? 

hjkle. Sir, you fhall feel— 

Sir Chr. Feel ! — It's more than ever you did, I be- 
lieve. Mean, fordid, wretch ! dead to all fenfe of ho- 
nour, gratitude, or humanity — I never heard of fuch bar- 
barity ! I have a fon-in-law, whohas beenleftin thefamc 
fituation ; but, if I thought him capable of fuch cruelty, 
dam'meifl wou'dnotreturnhim tofea, with a peck loaf, 
in a cockle fhell — Come, come, cheer up, my girl ! 
You {han't want a friend to prote£l you, I warrant 
you. — [taking Yarico by the hand.) 

Inkle. Infolence ! The Governor fliall hear of this 

Sir Chr. The Governor ! lyar ! cheat ! rogue ! 
impoftor ' breaking all ties you ought to keep, and pre- 
tending to thofe you have no right to. The Governor 
never had fuch a fellow in the whole catalogue of his 
acquaintance — the Governor difowns you — the Go- 
vernor difclaims you— the Governor abhors you ; and to 
your utter confufion, here ftands the Governor to tell you 
fo. Here ftands old Curry, who never talked to a rogue 
without telling him what he thought of him. 

Inkle. Sir Chriftopher ! — Loft and undone ! 

MecL (IVilhout.) Holo ! Young Multiplication? 
Zounds ! I have been peeping in every cranny of tlie 
houfe. Why, young Rule of three ! [Enters from the 
Inn.) Oh, here you are at laft— Ah, Sir Chriftopher ! 
What are you there ! too impatient to wait at home. 
But here's one that will make you Qdiiy^ I fancy. (Clap^ 
pingln^dQ onthejhoiilder.) 



Sir Chr, How came you to know him ? 

Med. Ha ! ha ! Well, that's curious enough too. So 
you have been talking here, without finding out each 

Sir Chr' No, no i I have found him out with a 

Med, Not you. Why this is the dear boy. It's 
my nephew, that is ; your fon in law, that is to be. It's 
Inkle ! 

Sir Chr. It's a lie; and you're a purblind old booby 
— and this dear boy is a damn'd fcoundrel. 

Med. Hey-dey what's the meaning of this ? One 
was mad before, and he has bit the other, I fuppofe. 

Sir Chr. But here comes the dear boy the true 

boy — the jolly boy, piping hot from church, with my 


Enter Campley, NarcilTa, and Patty. 

Med. Campley ! 

Sir Chr. Who ? Campley; — It's no fuch thing. 

Camp. That's my name, indeed, Sir Chriitopher. 

Sir Chr. The Devil it is ! And how came you. Sir, 
to impofe upon me, and aflume the name of Inkle ? A 
name which every man of honefty ought to be aihamed 
of. _ _ ■ _ 

Camp. I never did, fir. — Since I failed from England 
with your daughter, my affection has daily encreafed : 
and when I came to explain myfelf to you, by a number 
of concurring circumllances, which I am now partly 
acquainted with, you miftook me for that gentleman. 
Yet had I even then been aware of your miftake, I muft 
confefs, the regard for my own hapjiinefs v/ould have 
tempted me to let you remain undcceiv'd. 

Sir Chr. And did you, Narcifla, join in — 

I^ar. How could I, my dear Sir, difobey you ? 

Patty, Lord, your honour, what young Lady cculd 
refufe a captain ? 

Ca?/ip. 1 am a foldier. Sir Chriftopher. Love and 
AVai" is the foldier's motto j though my income is tri- 

E 2 flin? 


fling toyour i;zf^?/^('^fon-in-law's, ftill thechance of war 
has enabled me to fupport the objecl of my love above 
indigence. Her fortune, Sir Chriftopher, Idonotcon- 
fider myfelf by any means entitled to. 

Sir Chr. 'Sblood ! but youmufttho'. Givenicyour 
hand, my young Mars, and blefs you both together ! 
— Thank you, thank you for cheating an old fcliow into 
giving his daughter to a lad of fpirit, when he was go- 
ing to throw her away upon one, in whofe breaft the 
mean paffion of avarice fmothcrs the fmalleft fpark of 
affection, or humanity. 

Inkle. Confufion! 

Nar. I have this moment heard a ftory of a tranfac- 
tion in the foreft, which, I own, would have rendered 
compliance with your former commands very difagree- 

Patty. Yes, Sir, I told my miftrefs he had brought 
over a Hotty-pot gentlewoman. 

Sir Chr. Yen, but he would have left her for you ; 
{To Narc'ijja) and you for his intereft ; and fold you, 
perhaps, as he has this poor girl, to me, as a requital 
for prcferving his life. 

ISlar. How ! 

Enter Trudge and Wowfki. 

Trudge. Come along, Wows ! take a long laft leave 
of your poor Miflrefs : throw your pretty, ebony arms 
about her neck. 

JVoiuf. No, no ;-— flic not go; you not leave poor 
Wowfki. (Thy owing her arms about Yarico.) 

Sir Chr. Poor girl 1 A companion, I take it ! 

Trudge, A thing of my own, fir. I cou'dn't help 

following my mafter's example in the woods hike 

Mojier^ like Alan^ fir. 

Sir Chr. But you wou'd not fell her, andbehang'd 
to you, you dog, wou'd you ? 

Trudge. Hang mc, like a dog, if I wou'd, fir. 
Sir Chr. So fay I to everv fellow that breaks an ob- 
i.S'ation due lo thcfeelings of a man. But^ old Medium, 



what have you to fay for your hopeful nephew ? 

Med. I never fpeak ill of my friends, Sir Chrifto* 

Sir Chr. Pfhaw ! 

Inkle. Then let me fpeak : hear me defend a con- 

Sir Chr. Defend ! Zounds ! plead guilty at once— 
it's the only hope left of obtaining mercy. 

Inkle. Suppofc, old gentleman, you had a fon ? 

Sir Chr. 'Sblood ! then I'd make him an honeft fel- 
low ; and teach him that the feeling heart never knows 
greater pride than when it's employ'd in giving fuccour 
to the unfortunate. I'd teach him to be his father's 
own fon to a hair. 

Inkle. Even fo my father tutor'd me : from infancy, 
bending my tender mind, like a young fapling, to his 
will — ^Intereft was the grand prop round which he twin'd 
my pliant green afFc61:ions : taught me in childhood t© 
repeat old fayings— all tending to his own fix'd principles, 
and the firft fentence that I ever lifp'd, was Charity be~ 
gins at Ho?ne. 

Sir Chr, I Ihall never like a proverb again, as long 
as I live. 

Inkle. As I grew up, he'd prove — and by example 
»— were I in want, 1 might e'en ftarve, for what the 
world cared for their neighbours; why then fhou'd I 
care for the world ? Men now liv'd for themfelves. 
Thefe were his doctrines : then, fir, what wou'd you 
fay, fhould I, in fpite of habit, precept, education, fly 
in my father's face, and fpurn his councils ? 

Sir Chr. Say ! why, that you were a damn'd honeft, 
undutiful fellow. O curfe fuch principles ! Principles, 
which deftroy all confidence between man and man— — 
Principles, which none but a rogue cou'd inftil, and 
none but a rogue cou'd imbibe, — Principles——" 

Inkle. Which I renounce. 

Sir Chr. Eh ! 

Inkle. Ronouncc entirely. Ill-founded precept toa 
long has fl-ccl'd mv brcal1:---but flill 'tis vulnecablc— 




this trial was too much— Nature, 'gainft Habit combat- 
ing within me, has penetrated to my heart ; a heart, I 
©wn, long callous to the feelings of fenfibility ; but 
now it bleeds- -and bleeds for mypoor Yarico. Oh, let 
me clafp her to it, while 'tis glowing, and mingle tears 
of love and penitence. [^Emhrac'mg her.] 

Trudge. [Capering about. 1 Wows, give me a klfs ! 

[Wows goes to Trudge. 
Tar. And fhall we — (hall we be happy ? 
Jnile. Aye ; ever, ever, Yarico. 
Yarico. I knew we (hou'd — and yet I fear'd — but 
fhall I flill watch over you ? Oh ! Love, you furely 
gave your Yarico fuch pain, only to make her feel this 
happinefs the greater. 

IVowf. [Going to Yarico) Oh Wowfki fo happy !— 
and yet I think I not glad neither. 

Irudge. Eh, Wows ! How ! — why not ? 
Woivf. 'Caufe I can't help cry. 
Sir 'Chr. Then, if that's the cafe — curfe me, if I 
think I'm very glad either. What the plague's the 
matter with my eyes r — Young man, your hand — I am 
now proud and hiippy to fhake it. 

Med. Well, Sir Chriitopher, what do you fay to 
my hopeful nephew now ? 

S/V Chr. Say ! Why, confound the fellow, I fay, 
that is ungenerous enough to remember the bad action 
of a man who has virtue left in his heart to repent it, — 
As for you, my good fellow, [to Trudge) I muft, with 
your mafter's permiffion, employ you myfelf. 

Trudge. O rare I — Blefs your honour ! — Wows ! 
you'll be Lady, you jade, to a" Governor's Fa6lotum. 
Wowf. Ifs. — I Lady Jacktotum. 
Sir Chr. And now, my young folks, we'll drive 
home, and celebrate the wedding. Od's my life ! I 
long to be fhaking a foot at the fiddles, and I fhajl 
dance ten times the lighter, for reforming an Inkle, 
' while I have itin my power to reward theianocenee of 
» Yarico. 



La Belle Catharine, 

C A M P L E Y. 

Come let us dance andfmg, 

fVhile all Barbadoes bells jhall ring : 

Love [crapes the fiddk-Jlrlng^ 

And Venus plays the lute j 
Hymen gay, foots away, 
Happy at our wedding-day. 
Cocks his chin, and figures in. 

To tabor, fife, andfiute. 


Come then dance andfing. 

While all Barbadoes bells jhall ring, ^<» 


Since thus each anxious care 
Is vanijh'd into empty air. 
Ah ! how can I forbear 

To join the jocu?id dance f 
To and fro, couples go. 
On the light fantaflic toe, 
IVhile with glee, merrily. 

The rofy hours advance. Chorus* 

Y AR I c o. 

IVhen firjl the fvelUng fea 
Hither bore viy love and me, 
JVhat then my fate would be. 

Little did I think 

Doorti'd to know care aud woe, 

Happy Jiill is Tarico ; 

Since her love tuill conji ant prove. 

And nobly fcorns to/hriuk. Chorus, 


ya INKLE and Y A RICO: 


*Sbohs! noiJO Pm fix' d for life. 

My fortune' s fair ^ tho' blacks my voife^ 

Who fears doviefiic flrife—^ 

Who cares new a foufe! 
Marry cheer my dingy dear 
Shall find with her Factotum here ; 
Night and day^ Vll frifii and play 

About the hoife, with Wows» ChoruS/ 

P A T T t. 

Let Patty fay a uosrd 

A chamber maid may fur e be heard' 
Sure men are grown abfurd, 

Tlrus taking black for zuhite ! 
To hug and kifs a dingy mifsy 
Will hardly fult an age like this, 
JJnlefs^ here, fome friends appear. 

Who like this wedding night. Chorus, 



Los Angeles 

University of California 


305 De Neve Drive • Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 


Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. 

jol . ^UUJ 



3 1158 00808 7610